Brothers In Arms
by Susan Zell
Summary: A Ned Malone tale wherein Ned finds out what it’s like to become a true hero when Roxton becomes a target of revenge from a surprising source.
1. Hunting

TITLE:  Brothers in Arms

AUTHOR: Susan Zell

DISCLAIMER:  All characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" series are the property of John Landis, Coote/Hayes, New Line Television, and Over The Hill Gang,. No profit has been made by this venture. Apologies to any and all that have been left on or off the above list due to the continuous shake ups in production. I've borrowed the explorers to tell a long Lost Tale. All toys will be returned to their rightful place in the toy box at the conclusion of playtime. 

Toy Box Police: Ahem, I believe you still have the Roxton doll in your possession.

Susan: innocently Do I? 

Toy Box Police: Yes, and there is a punishment for hogging it.

Susan: pouts There is?

Toy Box Police: Yes, you have to play with this one. holds out Malone doll

Susan: You've got to be kidding! groans Oh all right! Sheesh! considers Malone doll So, what could I do with you? Hmmm. I could hit you over the head a few times. Nah. Been done to death. I could throw you over a cliff! Rats, that's been done too. Well, how about I make you save the day? No one would expect that! grins evilly But in my own twisted way, of course. 

SUMMARY:  And so there you have it. A Ned Malone tale is born wherein Ned finds out what it's like to become a true hero when Roxton becomes a target of revenge from a surprising source.

SPOILERS: Pilot, Cave of Fear, Nectar, Tribute. Lots of early first season references.

RATINGS: PG-13

TYPE: Action/Adventure, Heavy Hurt/Comfort

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Language

NOTES: This story takes place near the end of the first season. Please note this tale is a tad darker with more graphic violence than usual. Please consider yourselves warned and avoid this story if that is not your cup of tea.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To my faithful betas all. Above and beyond the call of duty. 

COMMENTS: This is primarily a buddy story between Roxton and Malone. You know, male bonding and all that. The girls are in it too, of course, but they take a back seat to the action for a change. I thought it would be nice to explore the differences and the similarities between our two favorite men. It's pure action/adventure this time out. Sorry shippers!

NOTES II: This story was written well over a year ago in early 2001, long before the television episode of Brother in Arms, which slightly altered Malone's WWII experiences. Therefore to save me rewrites, this story operates under the assumption that Malone still believes he was just a correspondent who wasn't involved in the war. The story actually was the foundation of the media tie novel that was pitched to the various publishers. Most of it changed from this format; it would have been much richer in plot, but since the aspect of a media tie novel continues to fade there is no sense holding onto it. I submit it here in its original format. Perhaps one day I'll write the whole thing, if time ever permits.

Brothers in Arms

By Susan Zell

Hunting

Part One

            The jungle was alive and conversing. Trees swayed and creaked in the gentle breeze; animals chattered and squawked in the heavy foliage; insects buzzed and hummed from their dark hideaways. In contrast, Lord John Roxton crept through the tangled vines, his movements slow and precise. Nothing knew he passed this way.

            He was hunting.

            And his prey was just ahead of him. His hand dropped to the ground and lightly touched the hoofed imprint by his foot. It was damp. Water had not yet collected in the indentations. He was close. A few minutes more and the track would have had a liquid puddle in it seeping up from the damp ground. A few hours later and the heat of the plateau would have dried it till it was hard and baked. Yes, he was very close.

            Suddenly he heard a snap of twigs to his right and everything quieted. Birds stopped their discussions, earth bound animals paused in their breath, all listening for danger. 

            Roxton froze with them. He cast his gaze to his left without moving his head. He could just make out something moving on his flank.

            Malone.

            Inwardly, Roxton groaned. If they lost another meal thanks to Ned Malone's impetuousness, the hunter swore he would cold cock the lad personally. They had traveled farther out than necessary after this particular prize. Roxton had told Malone to sit and wait till he could drive their prey toward him. 

The noise, unfortunately, alerted the boar they were hunting and it spun about. Roxton caught a glimpse of it through the heavy brush. The crack of a rifle split the air a second later. Malone took the shot anyway, despite the fact that he had lost the advantage. The boar stumbled but didn't go down. It ran past Roxton's position, however the thick brush didn't afford him a clear shot. Roxton jumped up and darted after it, hoping to cut off the animal's retreat, perhaps herd it back toward Malone. He heard the young journalist crashing along behind him.

But even wounded as it was, the boar's strength and panic saw it through and it disappeared into the thick jungle growth. Roxton pulled up, knowing that running pell-mell through a dinosaur infested jungle wasn't the wisest of options. He rested his rifle on his shoulder as he crouched down and examined the ground again, spotted now with the boar's blood.

Malone burst out onto the trail, running for the spot where the boar vanished. He was ready to chase it to the edge of the blasted plateau. "We're going to lose it!" he shouted.

Roxton raised a hand and brought Ned up short. "We've already lost it."

Malone's face fell. Five hours labor and he had blown it all in seconds with his carelessness. "Sorry," he mumbled. Roxton shrugged and rose. To Ned's surprise the hunter seemed rather complacent about the whole affair. "Aren't we going to go after it? I mean I hit it. It's wounded."

"Exactly why we're not going after it." Roxton wiped his bloody fingers on a nearby bush.

"But I thought it was a rule. Never leave a wounded animal after you've shot it."

"That's a rule for a different time and a different place, Malone. The blood will attract any number of predators. They can do the job far more effectively than the two of us. They'll take care of this …matter."

Roxton's slight hesitancy at the last word pained Ned. The journalist could almost hear the word _mistake instead. His head dropped a bit lower with shame._

"What happened back there?" Roxton asked as he took his bearings to head home.

"I saw something above me and I jumped. Stepped back onto some dry sticks. It was just a damn bird too." Ned's voice was filled with self-recrimination. With a plastered grimace, he wiped the top of his head. The bird in question had left him an unappreciated gift as the final coup de grace.

 "That's not what I meant, Malone. Always best to take stock of what's around you. You never know when it could be something hunting you instead. Giving your position away was bad luck, but the consequences if it had been a raptor instead of a parrot is far too final." He poked the young man in the chest. "But you took the shot and you missed," Roxton pointed out bluntly. To him, that had been Malone's sole mistake. They couldn't afford to waste precious bullets.

"I was desperate."

"Your shot should have brought the beast down. You didn't lead your target far enough. Another few inches to the right and you would have made the kill."

"I panicked."

"You rushed your shot." Roxton put it nicely. "Remember to take a few seconds to slow your breathing, wait for the right moment." 

His earlier anger faded away. The lad was learning, and to be honest, it was an easy mistake. Roxton's only concern now was the time it was taking. The plateau only afforded few such errors. It was a harsh mistress and eventually would grow weary of stragglers. It was Roxton's personal responsibility to make sure Malone didn't become one and pay the ultimate price. 

He attempted to lighten the mood. "You know, if you wore a hat, you wouldn't have to worry about that." Roxton bobbed his chin at the mess in Ned's hair, which the journalist was still trying to clear off.

"With my luck, I'd only catch it on every tree limb from here to the rim. Just one more thing to worry about. No thanks. Let's face it, Roxton, I'm never going to be as good as you…or Veronica."

"You don't have to be. You just need enough skills to survive. Nothing more." 

Roxton felt sympathy for the lad. Malone had years of expertise to catch up to Roxton's own hunting ability. Here on the plateau, the younger man was suddenly being pushed to be something he wasn't by nature. He was a writer for pity's sake, not a warrior. Roxton was reminded far too easily of how badly his own brother had fared when Roxton had tried to push him too quickly by taking William to Africa. Face your fears, he had told his elder, less confident sibling. But all he had made his brother do was face his own death.

Roxton set his teeth against the fresh pain that swelled. The similarities were uncanny. He wanted to throw in the towel on the whole affair, and keep Malone from the same terrible fate as his brother, but he didn't have that luxury. They couldn't pack up and go home and be safe. There was no such thing here on the plateau. Either Malone learned quickly how to fight and to kill, here and now, or the jungle would devour him whole with nothing left to show his passing but a bloody smear. 

Roxton wouldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't afford another black mark on his soul. Malone might feel ineffectual right now, but there was promise in him. All Roxton had to do was nurture it. Between him and Veronica, the lad would learn.

Of course, there lay half the problem. Malone had a lot to live up to in the eyes of the one person whose respect he craved most of all. Veronica Layton, huntress and jungle beauty extraordinaire. She was more woman than the journalist knew what to do with, but the hunter admired the lad's tenacity. Hell, there were times when even he himself felt ineffectual when set against the bronzed beauty's survival skills.

Yet the young and impulsive Ned Malone continued to throw himself in situation after situation to prove his prowess to her and hoped to meet her someday as an equal.

Roxton knew Veronica cared little to have a man that could match her physically. She wanted someone who believed in what she believed in, someone who saw the wonders of the plateau with the same open eyes as she, someone who understood all that she had been through and loved her because of it. Malone was the perfect man for the job, imaginative and sensitive. Unfortunately, he continued to believe that only someone her physical equal could stand beside her. Boy, he was on the wrong track. The way to handle a woman was really very simple. 

_Be there for her. When she pushed, don't push back. Give ground a little. If she runs, take your time and don't chase her. Offer her as much room as she needs and follow after them, slowly, patiently. If and when she's interested, she'll come to you._

Of course, he was one to talk. He was chasing after a woman ten times smarter than he was. Marguerite Krux could run circles around him, and she did it often, but the trick was to still be there when she stopped. It unnerved her every time.

Roxton shook himself out of his thoughts and thumped Malone on the shoulder in sympathy. "Come on, we've got a long hike back to the treehouse. Who knows, with any luck, we'll find something just as palatable as wild boar along the way."

"God, I'm so sick of dried raptor meat. I really wanted pork."

The lad sounded so plaintive that Roxton laughed. "Well then, next time shoot straight."

"Gee thanks," Ned lamented.

"You'll get there, Malone. It just takes a bit of time."

"Out here, you don't get a lot of that. I could be a dinosaur's lunch next week."

"Earlier than that, I'd say." Roxton was proud that Malone knew the stakes, but that still didn't protect him from some friendly ribbing.

"You're all heart."

"Hmm, that's not what Marguerite thinks."

Ned frowned. "That woman's a viper. She'd much rather rip out your heart and eat it for breakfast. Whatever do you see in her?" 

It was an obvious fact that the hunter had set his cap for the spoiled heiress. For the life of him, Ned couldn't understand why. The woman was spoiled, arrogant and just a plain pain in the ass. She had actually ripped out pages from his journal just because they didn't meet with her editorial approval. Granted he had painted the woman a tad sinisterly, but that didn't excuse the sheer rudeness on her part.

Roxton offered him an askew glance. "Oh, I think there is more to her than meets the eye. It takes a patient man to see past her flaws."

"Then you're about to be nominated for sainthood."

"Saint Roxton," the hunter mused with a cocky smirk. "It has almost as nice a ring to it as lord." He laughed out loud at his quip. "Compensation of sorts for constantly looking out for you all," Roxton returned with a wink.

That was the trouble, Ned moaned silently. He didn't want anyone to take care of him, yet he felt so helpless and scared all the time. Every noise, every person, every animal terrified him. There was no way to know what was friend or foe out here, so he had just labeled everything as foe. What kind of way was that to live? He hated this plateau. The bugs, the plants, the dinosaurs, the natives, the constant stress. Roxton never seemed to be afraid. He never balked; he never showed fear. He was straight and tall regardless of what horror they met. 

Ned knew nothing but the opposite. He may not show it all the time, but the fear was there, every day. It never went away and he hated himself for it. Weakness in a world that didn't tolerate it. 

He knew for a fact that he was going to die out here. His bragging about the War, his desperation to prove to Gladys, his fiancé in London, that he was a man of merit and adventure, was going to be his downfall. Suddenly, he had more adventure then he knew what to do with, but he wasn't prepared for the savagery of this place. 

The War seemed so distant. It always had. He had been merely an aerialist, a photographer mainly, snapping pictures from the safety of a high soaring balloon. He had watched the battles unfold beneath him, watched the waves of man and rifle surge out of the trenches, and observed the tides shift from one side to the other in a bloody boil of flesh and bone. So far away, and looking at it through the lens of a camera made it even more remote.

It wasn't usually until after the battles were over that he would walk the decimated fields and take his notes for the paper. He had been witness to the horrors of the war but never had he been a participant in the battles themselves. Maybe if he had, he would have been more prepared for what they had found in this god forsaken lost world. But again fate robbed him of the simplest things and now he was struggling to survive with skills best suited for a frightened rabbit.

He shook his head and doggedly followed after Roxton.

***

They had been walking for just over an hour when Roxton pulled up short, his body tightening. Malone reacted in kind, his own rifle rising. He had learned early on to read both Roxton and Veronica's body language while out in the bush. Danger was lurking. But where? Malone hadn't seen or heard anything.

With his rifle caught in a white knuckled grip, he studied the overgrowth around him, straining with his ears to pick up whatever it was that had alerted Roxton. But only silence washed over him. It was frustrating and terrifying all at the same time. Why couldn't he hear anything? He consoled himself with the fact that maybe whatever it was had sensed them as well and had frozen in their tracks.

Ned sidled up to Roxton. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Apemen," was the terse response.

Ned's blood ran cold. He hated those things. Extreme aggression governed by only the slightest bit of reason. It was a frightening combination.

"Where are they?" he asked the hunter.

"Don't know. There was a shift in the wind. Their stench came with it." His sharp eyes darted left and right, looking for unnatural silhouettes in the surrounding brush. He could feel them out there, his hair rising off the back of his neck. "Something's wrong. We need to move." Roxton started down the trail again, his rifle still at the ready. He beelined for a safer position and an escape route. "Stay close."

"Right on your heels."

They never made it.

            A surge of apemen hurtled through the jungle's boundaries on both sides of the trail. They came in a calculated rush, crude axes and bludgeons lifted. Roxton and Malone opened fire, keeping their backs to each other, firing rhythmically. The two men stayed centered in the trail and covered both sides of the jungle. But their enemies were too many. The apemen swarmed onto the trail and Roxton soon resorted to swinging his rifle into the fray, blocking the apemen's blows.

            Even though Ned was in a fight for his life, he thought for one crazy moment that most of the apemen concentrated their attack on Roxton. Was it that they perceived him as the most likely threat? That only infuriated Ned and he battled harder, taking down an apeman with a well-placed shot. It flew backward into the bushes.

            Miraculously, Roxton continued to hold his own despite the fact that he was outnumbered, his hatred fueling his fight. One after another the apemen fell. The hunter's strength and ferocity made him a daunting figure. But the sheer number surging forth from the jungle made his blood turn to ice. This was no ordinary raiding party they had come across. It was almost a full tribe. What the hell had they walked into?

            Out of the corner of his eye, Roxton saw Malone finally lose ground and resort to hand-to-hand, something the lad wasn't very adept at. Separated as they were now, they couldn't help the other. One rather burly apeman staggered Malone with a cruel blow, driving the journalist to his knees.

            Taking a last swing at his surrounding adversaries and forcing them back momentarily, Roxton spun and drew a bead on Malone's opponent. He knew there was no way to reach Malone in time; the distance between them was too great. There was no other choice. Without time to aim properly, he fired, letting pure instinct take over. The rifle bucked in his hands and the apeman stumbled but didn't fall. He tried for a second shot.

            Ned rose back to his feet behind the apeman, still dazed. But now he was in Roxton's line of fire, looking at him over the shoulder of an ape, and for an instant the hunter hesitated in his shot, his mind casting back to another time, another face.

            William.

            "Malone!" he shouted hoarsely. "Get out of there!"

Then Roxton's world exploded as something struck him cruelly across his shoulders from behind. In his haste to protect his friend, Roxton had also left himself open to attack. Apemen surged over him and bore him to the ground, beating him senseless.

Continue to Part Two


	2. Hunted

Brothers in Arms

by Susan Zell

See the first page for disclaimers and ratings.

Hunted

Part Two

Ned had lost the rifle when he went down. In sheer desperation, he sucker punched the apeman with a hard fist. Roxton's command echoed in his ears. Instinctively, he obeyed, assuming that the British lord was right behind him as he fled into the brush. He risked a look back and he saw the limp form of Roxton lying on the ground surrounded by triumphant apemen. He stopped abruptly, intent on going back to help him. 

But that plan, pathetic as it was, dissipated quickly as four apemen leaped out of the bushes at him. Weaponless and outnumbered, he broke and ran, knowing he could never defeat them all barehanded. Roxton's only chance was for him to stay free.

If Roxton wasn't dead already.

Apemen despite their aggressiveness weren't long on endurance in high speed sprinting and soon Ned outran them. Though he continued racing headlong through the jungle until he knew he was no longer being pursued. His breath came in jagged gasps.

He collapsed onto the ground in a disjointed sprawl, exhausted and terrified. The image of Roxton lifeless at the feet of the apemen wouldn't leave his mind. He had failed the hunter; he had left him defenseless against the horde of those vicious, ungodly creatures.

Ashamed, he struggled back to his knees, his limbs shaking and weak. He had to go back. If there was even a chance that Roxton was still alive, he had to take it. He had to know. There was no way he could go back to the treehouse without verifying it one way or the other.

He sucked in a deep breath, ignored the dozen or so odd aches and sharp pains, and rose to his feet. He broke back into a run regardless of the protests of his body. 

His trail was fairly obvious. It surprised him that the apemen hadn't continued to track him. Just to be on the safe side he paralleled the trail he had left. But he saw no apemen on the way back, much to his relief. This only brought up more questions though. It wasn't like them. They had one-track minds. Normally they would have followed after him. 

Fifteen, pulse-pounding minutes later, he crept up to the clearing where the attack had occurred. It was silent and still. There was no one around. Ned took stock of the area from where he hid, looking for any signs of an ambush. He scanned the clearing, noting the fact that all the bodies were gone, including Roxton's. Challenger had once said that apemen ate their dead. The journalist suppressed a shudder. 

The ground was soaked in blood and Ned could see where the apemen had dragged off their bounty, most likely heading for home and a fine meal. All that was left of the battle was the hunter's hat lying in the matted, blood stained grass. He picked it up and wrung its brim anxiously.

He had to find out if Roxton was dead or alive. If he were dead, there was little that could be done. But if he was alive, than perhaps he could still help. There was a chance he might not make it back to the treehouse for the others before Roxton was killed. He was Roxton's only chance. So it was up to him.

Ned's gut clenched. Such thoughts weighed heavy on him. This wasn't supposed to have happened. Roxton might as well have a child trying to rescue him. 

Knowing that the amount of blood would also attract predators, Ned left the area and followed after the apemen. He picked up his pace. The apemen would be laden down and moving slow. That gave him the opportunity to catch them.

***

The sky was a brilliant blue hue resting above a sea of green. The sun was sinking into the horizon with a light breeze blowing into the treehouse. Waiting at the rail stood Marguerite Krux, the black-haired heiress that continually wondered how and why she came to be stuck here in this savage place. 

Most thought it was pure greed but they were wrong. It had never been just that but a whole variety of other factors as well. Things that only she knew and would covet till the day she died. Most likely that was going to be here in this horrid place anyway. 

She again checked the length of shadows on the floor and grew more agitated. It was getting late and the hunting party had not yet returned. They weren't yet due for another couple of hours, but for some reason she expected them to saunter down the path long before. With each passing hour that such a thing didn't come to pass, her anxiety grew. There was no explanation she could offer, just that she wanted them back.

Veronica Layton came up to stand beside her, leaning her elbows on the wooden rail and gazing out over the expanse. It was peaceful in the treehouse for a change. Professor George Edward Challenger was in the bowels of his laboratory and wasn't due out till dinner, while Professor Arthur Summerlee was painting in his room, a particularly vibrant piece of fauna that kept him quite engrossed.  
  
            "They still have another few hours before dark."

Marguerite started, surprised that her actions had been that transparent. "Excuse me?"

"You're worried," responded the blonde huntress. "Don't be. They're fine."

Marguerite snorted her lack of concern. "Yes, I'm sure they are. They probably stopped to dillydally at some damsel's campfire. I'm sure such a waif needs an evening meal much more than we do."

Veronica smirked at the older woman's snipe. There were times Marguerite's remarks, though callous and edgy, were rather amusing. "Well, then the good thing is she probably won't eat very much. There's sure to be leftovers."

"Ha! The day that I eat some tart's leftovers is the day we find a way off this stupid rock."

"Heaven forbid we find a way then. I'd _hate_ to see such a thing." The twinkle in the woman's blue eyes showed that she wished for exactly the opposite. 

"Yes, I'm sure," drawled the heiress. 

The two women were quiet as they stood there, still searching the murky jungle for a sign of the wayward men. Neither one of them were willing to leave their perch. Surprisingly, it was Marguerite who broke the silence with an odd remark.

            "Have you ever had one of those feelings?"

            Veronica glanced over and up with mild astonishment. "Like what? A premonition?"

            The heiress shrugged. "Perhaps." She wrapped her arms about her as if she were cold. "Something just seems off."

            Veronica let the plateau's environment sweep over her, listening with a tuned ear to the steady pulse of its heart and soul. She felt nothing, but she also knew that it would be rude to dismiss Marguerite's concerns outright.

            "I had one once. A long time ago," she admitted. Cool gray eyes regarded her, waiting patiently. The blonde's face grew very somber. "There was no rhyme or reason for it at the time and it took me all day to convince myself I was being foolish."

            "I gather nothing came of it," Marguerite remarked, giving a small laugh at her silly fears.

            Veronica straightened. "It was the day my parents disappeared."

            A deep, disturbing silence settled over the both of them.

***

Roxton's first conscious thought was not a pleasant one. Pain lanced through his head. Stabbing aches struck at him from all over. Every movement only made it worse. Common sense told him he wasn't moving under his own power.

Only when a rock dug across his chest did he realize he was being dragged face down. His forearms were held firmly in the hairy hands of two apemen. He opened his eyes and took in his situation. He wasn't the only one being dragged, but to his relief none of the bodies were Malone. To his shock though, Roxton discovered he was the only one alive. All the rest of the bodies were dead apemen. Apemen he killed.

Oh boy, he moaned quietly. This wasn't good at all.

An apeman following along behind him gave a bark and indicated to the group that Roxton was awake. The two dragging him released him suddenly and stepped back as if terrified. Roxton flopped to the ground. He tried to get to his feet but wasn't fast enough. A muscular male swiftly stepped forward and landed a cruel blow across his back. 

Roxton went down hard, his breath fleeing in a loud rush. He struggled back up, despite the fact that spots and sparks were flaring in his vision, and his breathing was nothing but a labored wheeze. The muscled male tried again to attack but was shoved aside by a massive male with a wide silver streak emblazoned down his back. This one towered over the other.

They were keeping him alive. This only perplexed Roxton even more. For what purpose? Roxton glared as best he could through his watering eyes at the shuffling shapes of the apemen surrounding him. Their grunts and howls filled his ears. They sounded pompous, like they had won a great victory. 

Roxton swayed to his feet; he refused to show fear to those bloodthirsty sons of bitches. Unfortunately, it only served to incite their rage more. A young male came in quick and low and struck out at Roxton's left leg. Roxton couldn't react fast enough and the force of it drove him down on one knee, pain blossoming. A harsh hiss exhaled between his clenched teeth.

What the hell were they waiting for? They could kill him easily, as unsteady and wounded as he was. Was it fear holding them back or something else?

His hand brushed against a broken tree limb in the grass, thick but wieldy. Stiff fingers gripped it, but he remained down, giving the impression of weakness. Let them come to him. And that they did. Despite the authoritative screams of the silverback, the young one charged again.

Roxton waited, knowing he had the advantage of cunning and experience, and let his attacker close the ground. Then with a singular motion, Roxton rose to his feet and swung the branch in a smooth, fierce arc, catching the apeman on the temple. It dropped like a stone to the ground.

Fury fueled Roxton.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Who's next?" He spun around at the others, most of which fell back in fear.

The apes around him screamed with arms raised and weapons brandished. Roxton expected the lot of them to descend upon him. His death would be quick—at least he hoped.

But the Silverback beat back the tribe. It was obviously the leader and was showing remarkable intelligence despite its primitive appearance. To Roxton however, its markings looked much like the silverback that had attacked William. Roxton had never forgotten that beast, massive and mottled by the silver in its black fur. It's yellow teeth about to sink into William's exposed throat, his brother's blue eyes pleading at him in terror.

Roxton took a step toward the beast, his branch gripped at his waist like a rifle. "You want a piece of me, you bastard?"

The Silverback snarled. It's hairy arm clutching its own club, bulbous at the end with thorns embedded in it. Its red-flecked eyes looked askance for a second and Roxton realized it was looking at something else. Then the apeman, which had crept up behind the hunter, struck him across the back of the skull.

The sun flared and stars erupted and then faded all too quickly into absolute night, leaving only the faint ghost image of the Silverback's lips curling back over yellow teeth in a horrifying reflection of a smile.

***

Ned Malone almost let out a shout as he saw his friend fall a second time. He had arrived only moments before and he had been trying to access the situation. But he hadn't acted quickly enough to take advantage of the confusion in the enemy to affect a rescue. He cursed his lack of initiative and his inability to think quickly. It had been a glorious opportunity to distract the apemen and give Roxton time to escape. However, that moment was ripped from him as Roxton was again robbed of consciousness.

The huge, silver-lined apeman once more commanded two of his followers to take hold of Roxton and bring him. The caravan was again on the move. 

But at least now he could keep up, Ned thought. And he found that Roxton was still alive. For the moment anyway. The younger man continued to have a bad feeling about why the apemen seemed so determined to take Roxton alive. It was completely against what they knew of the creatures and it didn't bode well for the hunter.

He hated to admit it but there seemed to be almost a motive behind the attack. Roxton had undoubtedly been at the center of it. Most of the apemen had beset Roxton, possibly perceiving him as the bigger threat, but maybe he was their target all along. Was that possible? Never before had the apemen shown that kind of intelligence. This bordered on premeditation, a function far removed from primates or so they had thought. The prospects of which were terrifying to Ned. 

Ned followed the band deep into the heart of apemen country where ragged fissures opened from the depths of the earth, spilling forth magma and scalding steam. The heat of the place had burned away most of the vegetation and he was forced to hide from rock to rock as he scurried after his quarry. The heat was almost unbearable and the thick steam made his clothes cling to his body in a wet grip. He had only passed this way once before and it had been by air in the security of the balloon. 

Ned scowled. Once again he had taken the high and easy route during that escapade. It didn't matter that he had saved everyone's lives by his quick thinking then. He had made so many mistakes prior with the horrid landing that had trapped them here and his near death at the mimic tree. His list of blunders continued to grow. One miraculous save meant little in the face of them.

He recognized where the apemen were going though and he took a route that might bring him there sooner. Maybe if he knew what they were planning inspiration could abound. Right now, he was feeling extremely inadequate in the last minute save business. How did Roxton and Challenger do it on such a regular basis? Between Roxton's obvious military expertise, though the man never spoke of it, and Challenger's ingenious innovations, they always seemed able to pull everyone's fats from the fire. But what did Ned Malone, lowly journalist, have to offer?

He sprinted away and prayed that somehow he'd come up with an answer before it was too late.

***

However, the new vantage point only compounded the problem, Ned found. He was right in the assumption that practically the whole tribe of apemen had undertaken this venture. All that had remained at the camp had been women and children. 

He noted with curiosity that there weren't any old apemen. Was it because they died young or was it because the apemen didn't tolerate weakness and dispatched them before they became a liability? The primitive beasts had no idea what wisdom came with age. Look at Challenger; if it hadn't been for the scientist's brilliant mind, they would have been dead long ago. The man's declining physical state certainly didn't stop him from using the one thing that was still vital: his brain. 

Ned wished he had the man's counsel at this very moment. He longed for Veronica's steadfast resolve. Heck, he wouldn't even mind having Marguerite's sheer pigheaded tenacity. Anything would have been welcome. Having the full responsibility of Roxton's rescue was a heavy weight to carry on the shoulders of one very unsure young man. He didn't feel up to the challenge at all. 

The apemen's camp was roughly the size of a small village. There were no huts or barricades of any sort. They were wide open to attack from a number of predators. The only saving grace was that most dinosaurs probably avoided the volcanic area on account of the terrific heat and fumes. The back of Ned's throat was already dry and scratchy. He resisted the urge to drink from his limited water supply. There would be no time to refill it.

Large boulders were strewn around the clearing. There was a high cliff wall to the north, while the south and east sloped downward back toward the jungle. The area was dotted with steaming fissures, which moaned and belched every once in a while, throwing up more heat and fumes. There were skeletal remains of beasts the apemen had killed and eaten, some still with rotting flesh hanging from the carcass. 

One by one he ruled out plan after plan. Luring a T-Rex in to cause havoc wasn't viable because it would never follow him past the magma pits. He suspected that apemen drove prey into the box canyon where they could kill it easily. But as one man, Ned didn't have that luxury. He had no weapons, no gunpowder, and no army. No chance in hell of rescuing Roxton. Fear and desperation mounted. 

A commotion drew his attention back to the clearing. The hunters had arrived. When the male apemen came into view dragging their prize, the women and children shouted in elation and welcomed their victorious mates home. They rushed forward to see for themselves what they had feared for so long. Roxton must have regained consciousness again because Ned could see the man try to gain his feet but either lacked the strength or couldn't due to the rough treatment of the two apemen dragging him.

The hunter was hauled to the center of the clearing and thrown roughly to the ground. The males raised their arms and screamed their victory. The females grabbed dirt, rocks and dung, whatever they could, and threw it at Roxton in a madcap attempt to join in the success of their mates. 

Roxton bore it stoically, keeping his arm upraised to ward off any dangerous blows. It looked to Ned as if the man was trying to size up the situation. Ned frantically hoped that Roxton would be able to come up with a way to save himself and Ned could then aid him as best he could. However, it was easy for the journalist to see that such a thing was not possible. 

It would take a damn miracle to get them out of this mess, and, by all accounts, they were fresh out.

Ned let his head fall over his raised knees in dismay; this was all his fault somehow, he was sure of it. Though through his exhaustion it was difficult to determine quite where it all went wrong. All he could think of was that he shouldn't have run. He should have stayed and fought somehow. Because of his cowardice, a good man was going to die.

_Snap of it, Malone_, he snarled at himself. This wasn't helping the situation. He lifted his head and once again scrutinized the area, looking for something, anything that would permit him a miracle.

***

Roxton warded off another blow, his arm going numb at the impact at the fist sized rock. He wouldn't be able to take much more. Already his body ached and he didn't think there was a portion of him that wasn't suffering in some way. His head felt it would split at any moment. He needed time to clear it, a priority if he wanted to survive.

There was no way to determine if Malone was dead or alive, but in either case, the odds didn't look good. Thirty apemen surrounded him, not counting the children. Even with a third of their tribe dead in the attempt to take him, the apemen hadn't been deterred. The odd thing was that they had always run off when the odds went against them. This time they hadn't. They had purpose, motive. They seemed almost fanatical in their tenacity. It only meant one thing to Roxton. He had been their target from the start. The question was why? From the ferocity in the barbaric faces in front of him he didn't think the answer was good. 

He had killed many apemen during his months here on the plateau. He hated the bastards, hated them for what their kind did to his brother, hated their mindless violence and bloodthirsty approach. These creatures were even more vicious than their lower brethren, dim-witted and savage. They attacked often with no provocation and had done little so far to warrant any sympathy from the hunter.

He scrambled to his feet, intent on facing his fate standing rather than crumpled up on the ground. His vision blurred and then realigned itself, sending stabbing pains all the way to the back of his skull and down his stiff neck. Suppressing a groan, he took the opportunity and glanced about for a means of escape. He saw one. It was pathetic and hopeless, but it was the only one that presented itself at the moment. Since his options were few and his situation was critical, it was worth the risk.

He waited until he saw a male hefting a club; only it wasn't a club. It was his rifle. It looked to be workable too. It had become the apemen's symbol of victory over the tribe's hated enemy.  It would do and it offered Roxton a spark of hope.

It was a large, young male, jet black with a hideous scar that ripped through its face. Roxton was unsure whether he could take the brute, but he had no choice. Roxton picked up a hefty rock and threw it at the ape, striking it soundly in the chest. Infuriated, the scarred male came with arm upraised and leading with the rifle, hoping that the move would terrify Roxton as the weapon had so terrified its tribe all these months. However, the dull-witted creature had no idea how to make the rifle work. Its fingers were far removed from the trigger. The Silverback, watching the events unfold, realized the danger and tried to stop it, but it was too late.

Roxton slipped under the attack, grabbed the scarred apeman's arm and used the beast's own momentum to fling it back around and into the crowd to his left where there was already a small gap. Roxton kept a grip on the rifle and tore it from the apeman's fingers. The scarred creature refused to release it, which only caused its arm to bend backward and break. Its howl was deafening as the large scarred male went flying, bowling a contingent of his tribe over. But the rifle was Roxton's again.

The beleaguered hunter took advantage of the confusion and ran for the small break in the circle, caused by his move. He fired the last few remaining bullets at the crowd. Three apemen were flung back by its force. Then he swung the rifle madly, keeping the others back as he ran forward toward the gap. The older males and the women and children fell away, eager to stay out of range now that the hunter was again dangerous, but the rest of the large males pursued him.

Roxton ran for all he was worth, fumbling for the extra bullets at his waist, but his fingers were thick and unwieldy and the complicated motions were beyond him. The exertions made his head spin. He stumbled twice and dragged himself roughly upright. If he fell, it was all over. Forcing his legs to hold steady, he continued sprinting for the path out of the valley. He could lose them in the heavy steam and then recover, reload.

His vision unexpectedly caved in at the edges and oblivion beckoned. With a defiant roar of his own, he held it back. His head throbbed now in time with his pounding heart and with each beat, the darkness inched forward. The pain slowed him and just above the terrible pounding, he heard the howls of apemen right behind him, gaining ground. 

He wasn't going to make it. 

Accepting that fact, he stopped abruptly and spun around to face them. By God, he would go down fighting! With a wide sweep of his rifle, he slammed the stock into the face of the nearest apeman. It crashed into its brother and they both went sprawling. Another apeman collided into Roxton and he fell backward onto the hard ground. 

Darkness dipped in and smothered him for a split second as his ears rang and the top of his skull shattered with the sound. He had failed! Damn it, he had failed! So damn close! He held onto consciousness with the obstinacy of a bear. When the blackness finally receded, he realized he was back where he started, dragged there by his captors while insensible. 

To his shock, he noticed that the Silverback currently carried his rifle, the stock of which was now cracked. The rest of the tribe was terrified of it and screamed and shouted whenever the Silverback brandished it their way. It had regained full control of the tribe. Shambling over to Roxton, it stood over him and roared. Its fetid breath filled the air around the hunter, a horrible mix of spittle and rot. The Silverback was holding the weapon around the barrel.

Roxton kept his face and demeanor perfectly calm. He showed no fear. Instead, he straightened and lifted his head higher. It merely served to infuriate the Silverback, knowing it had to show face or back down and let Roxton take the victory, regardless of how small it seemed at the moment. Such simplicity was the one thing about the animal kingdom that Roxton understood well. Dominance and strength were the ruling factors at the most basic of levels. 

The shouts from the rest of the tribe at this challenge were raucous. The Silverback though didn't fall prey to such things, a fact that both surprised and worried Roxton. This wasn't usual behavior for an apeman. For the last year, the apemen had always been predictable to a fault, yet these behavior patterns were new and far more calculating than the beasts had ever shown. Such things did not bode well for the plateau. With the right leadership, the apemen could become a formidable force once more.

The Silverback stared at him with black, bloodshot eyes. They were dark and filled with a hatred that Roxton had never seen in mere primitive animals acting purely on instinct. No, this one had intelligence. A chill skittered over Roxton's skin.

The Silverback gave a sharp bark and two other apemen grabbed Roxton's arms. Two more grabbed his legs. Roxton bucked madly in a vain attempt to throw them aside. 

"Get off!" he screamed, struggling as they pushed him backward down to the ground. 

The Silverback lifted the butt of the rifle as he stood over Roxton's left leg. With abject horror, Roxton saw it descend with brutal force.

"NO!"

Over his scream came the sickening crack of his bone snapping in two.

***

Continued in Part Three


	3. Broken

Brothers in Arms

by Susan Zell

Broken

Part Three

            Horror and nausea washed over Ned Malone in waves as he witnessed the Silverback brutally break Roxton's leg. It was one of the most sadistic things he had ever witnessed on this plateau. The echo of the hunter's unholy scream still lingered in the walls of stone around them.

            It had been done on purpose! To prevent Roxton from escaping again! The apemen didn't know how to tie knots and they had no other means of subduing their captive. Crippling was their only option.

            Hanging his head, Ned's breath came in short gasps as the elated shouts of the apemen carried to him. They were excited over their barbaric deed. The bastards! If Ned still carried his rifle, he would have opened fire into the thronging mass of hairy monsters. He would have taken revenge, act by bloody act!

            He swallowed back the bite of bile resting in his throat and once again stared down into the melee of the camp. Roxton was writhing on the ground, curled over his injured limb. From this vantage point he couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be blood as well. Either the blow of the rifle had broken the skin or the broken bone had pierced through the flesh. The latter would be ghastly. He sent a silent prayer the hunter's way.

            He also offered one up for himself. The chance of rescue had just about been crippled as well. There was no way Roxton would now be able to assist Ned in escaping. Even if by some miracle, Ned was able to get to Roxton, he could expect little assistance from the man. Their flight would be short lived when the apemen retaliated.

            Ned wiped his face in half crazed frustration, fury building at the moisture pooling in his eyes. He had to come up with something. But what?

            He tried to calm himself. Roxton was running out of time. What was it the man had told him about surviving a crisis? _Take things one step at a time. _Yes, that was it. _Break things down into simple tasks and then prioritize them._

            He could do this. But he had to do it quickly. All right, he commanded, what was the most important thing? _Get Roxton away from those heathens_. But there was no way he could do that with the apemen all around. Okay, therefore the first thing he needed to do was get the apemen away. _How? How do you get a bunch of savages to flee for their lives and leave their prisoner behind?_

            His mind was blank. 

Damn it! How could one possibly concentrate on priorities when answers were so fleeting? Think, Malone! 

            To his left a fissure vented steam in a screaming hiss. Ned flinched and scuttled away, feeling the backwash of heat run over him, his skin prickling. Two boulders further down and it hit him. 

The volcanic fissures! 

No one could stand their ground at such a force of nature. That was it! He would force the bastards away with the hand of Mother Nature herself. His eyes scanned the area above the camp. He needed a fissure that was small enough to manipulate and yet still carry enough magma to cause a riot in the camp. He saw one that fit the bill perfectly, a few feet above the main body of the camp. There were enough boulders around to hide him as he worked and to divert the magma into multiple rivers and scatter the apemen. 

_They like it hot, I'll give them hot!_

Then he paused. Roxton would be down there, right in the lava's path, unable to move. Ned doubted the apemen would try to save him, and the margin of error looming in front of Ned was expansive. He would have absolutely no way to predict or direct the magma that he was going to force to erupt.

            It wouldn't matter. Roxton would rather die that way than at the hands of apemen. Ned had no doubt that whatever the apemen had in store for the hunter, it was going to be terrible and savage and a damn cruel way to die. From the moment the apemen had attacked, a thought had been lingering in the back of his head. This was all about revenge. 

Roxton had been an enemy of the apemen for almost a year now, and in that time, he had killed more of them than the plateau's natural dangers had ever been able to tabulate. Roxton was their greatest adversary. He had killed them in self-defense, surely, but that didn't matter. If the apemen had just left them alone, they could have co-existed. But the apemen hadn't left them alone and so the body count had risen. 

They had fought the apemen so often that Ned had terrifying nightmares of the beasts as they invaded the treehouse and murdered everyone in their beds. Challenger had invented the perimeter fence for the express purpose of protecting them all from the savagery of the apemen. But the apemen had not given up. They merely centered their hatred on Roxton and now he was going to be the sacrificial lamb. With the hunter's death, the apemen believed their woes would be over.

            But they weren't going to kill him quickly. They were going to torture him, make him pay for all that he had done to them. Their utter brutality so far made that perfectly clear. And after Roxton had suffered enough, they would finally kill him, one desire winning out over the other. The question was, how much time was left before their fury escalated and Roxton's fate was sealed?

            Ned had no choice. He could think of no other way to save the man. The risks, high as they might be, were still preferable to being tortured and then eaten.

            "Forgive me, Roxton," Ned whispered.

***

            The small party of four trod through the thick jungle. They still hadn't found the wayward pair and it would be night soon. Challenger knew where Roxton had taken Malone to hunt. It had always proven a lucky place, full of fresh water and well populated with wild game. 

He was sure everything was perfectly fine. The men were a few hours overdue but in this place such things never ran smoothly. Still he chalked up their tardiness to some jungle annoyance like a dinosaur. Roxton was intelligent enough to avoid tangling with them. They most likely had to take a longer route back, which meant they might miss each other.

            But it was still safer to act than to just sit and wait. If the hunters made it back before they returned they would just wait while the worried explorers trudged back. It had happened before on many occasions.

            And at least this way the women would be kept quiet. For some reason both of them had gotten overly agitated at the hunters' absence. Rather than have them go out alone to search, the two professors had packed up and joined them. Marguerite and Veronica were contrary enough to leave even when confronted by logic. That much Challenger had learned, though he failed to understand how women could be so ignorant even when good common sense stared them in the face.

And so onward they trudged. They followed the main path, knowing that Malone and Roxton would keep to it as much as possible unless something drove them off.

            Veronica stopped abruptly ahead of them. She crouched down and signaled everyone off the trail. They scattered to the sides, rifles and pistols rising in their hands. She scuttled back to them.

            "Apemen. The tracks are a few hours old. They've been here recently. I'll scout up ahead."

            "Not alone, my dear," Challenger insisted. "Marguerite and I will take the left side. You and Summerlee the right."

            She frowned slightly but nodded. Sometimes Challenger believed that greater numbers would keep them safe when in fact quite the opposite was true. Still in this case, she permitted it. She had a suspicion that the apemen were long gone from this area. Whatever had happened, they had missed it.

            They maneuvered further up the trail till they came to a small bend where it opened up into a wider clearing. The stench of death and blood became overwhelming. Such an odor would bring other unwanted guests of the reptilian kind, but from the look of the battlefield before them, the bodies had long been cleaned out. Only the smaller scavengers and insects remained about the patches of blood and gore on the ground, most of which scattered at their approach.

            Marguerite's face was white staring down at one of those saturated areas. "Do you think Roxton or Malone were a part of this?"

            Challenger reassured her. "No sense fretting till it's time. Let's see what Veronica can tell us." He dearly hoped this had nothing to do with the two hunters, not only for his friends' sake, but also because he'd hate to eat crow if it turned out that the women's intuition had meant something all along.

Veronica scouted the battlefield, her expression dour and hard. Finally she waved the others up. They came at a run. What she held in her hand made everyone pull up short. It was Malone's rifle.

"Is he…?" Marguerite began. "Is Roxton…?"

"I didn't find either of them."

"They carry off the dead." Challenger was grim. 

"We don't know that," Veronica snapped, knowing exactly where Challenger's thoughts were leading. "I'm following them to make sure."

The rest of the group agreed. They tracked the departing apemen who left all too evident a trail. Veronica let Marguerite and Summerlee pull ahead of them. To Challenger she remarked softly, "There was a lot of them, Professor. Too many for an ordinary raiding party. They were on both sides of the trail and they had been there for hours, waiting for someone to walk past."

"Waiting? For what?"

"For Roxton and Malone."

"That's preposterous. Apemen don't plot. They are creatures of aggression ruled merely by hunger and territorial tendencies. Cunning thinkers they are not."

"That's not what I saw back there."

Marguerite let out a shout and gathered the others about her. The heiress pointed to the ground. "Tell me that's not Malone's boot print! He's alive!"

"He's following them," Veronica said. "Trailing the apemen."

"But why?" asked Summerlee, dotting his perspiring face with his sleeve, his gentle eyes narrowing with concern.

"Roxton is a prisoner most likely."

"Or dead," Marguerite pointed out in a flat tone.

"We don't know that." Challenger made a feeble effort to offer hope even though they had not yet found another set of footprints. It meant that Roxton wasn't walking under his own power. "Why else would Malone follow them?"

"Just to be sure," Veronica insisted.

"Against this many apemen?" Marguerite exclaimed. She too had noticed the sheer number of tracks littering the ground. "Is he mad? He's unarmed!" Though silently, Marguerite praised him. He hadn't abandoned Roxton. She gave him credit for that. She couldn't be sure if she would have done the same given a reverse of circumstances.

"We'll follow him," Challenger announced. "If Roxton is alive, Malone will need all the help he can muster."

They picked up their pace as much as possible even though they knew that such a speed could not be maintained due to Summerlee's presence. But they didn't dare separate now. And the encroaching darkness meant that they would soon have to stop for the night, losing even more precious time.

Marguerite was silent as they marched, fuming at the slow pace regardless as to the valid reasons. She didn't understand such anger. She wasn't really mad at Summerlee. Was it because there was trouble and they were being dragged into it like always? Such things seemed commonplace on the plateau. Or was there maybe something far deeper?

_Please don't let it be because of Roxton_, she begged. But she knew she was just fooling herself. Something had long been building between the two of them. Only she wasn't sure she was ready. _Damn you, Roxton. Don't you dare be dead._

She hadn't mentioned to anyone that she had had flashes of Roxton's torn body. The visions had started in the treehouse and had compelled her to depart and search for him. She was surprised when Veronica had stood by her on this wild scheme, despite the arguments from the two professors. In her heart she was grateful. She didn't have to face this alone.

Veronica took up the rear flank since their direction was obvious. She observed the wide range of emotions flitting across Marguerite's face. She understood all too well the fear that had seized the usually enigmatic woman. She also understood her anger. Danger and death were not easy companions to travel with. She rejoiced in the fact that Malone was still alive, but it didn't ease her worries. The journalist was bull headed enough to try and affect a rescue single handedly if Roxton was still alive. And she cursed that aspect of him

Malone wasn't out of danger yet.

***

            Having to wait until nightfall before putting his plan into action, Ned sat there throughout the remainder of the day and witnessed Roxton being tortured. Ape upon ape, sometimes female, sometimes youth, struck him or would throw something at him from a safe distance. Roxton bore it stonily, unable to move, obviously in great pain, but still defiant. 

Ned prayed that whatever the apemen had in store for Roxton would wait until tomorrow. Otherwise, why incapacitate him? It was a slim hope but one that Ned clung to with tenacity. He had no choice. To consider otherwise was too petrifying. 

            Through the long day, he endured his own private hell, watching his friend suffer horrible brutality without being able to lift a hand to stop it. One apeman got through the hunter's weakened defenses and landed a solid blow and the big man slumped, motionless and bleeding. Ned's gut twisted. The man looked dead. Was it too late?

Ned sat there in anguish and fury. Had all his planning been for nothing? Roxton couldn't be dead now! Not after all this! Ned couldn't go back to the treehouse with such a story. He couldn't face the horror of seeing Marguerite and the others take the news. He wouldn't leave, not until he was absolutely sure. Roxton might not be dead, just mercifully unconscious.

The braver apemen inched closer and poked at Roxton's still body. When he didn't respond, they started screaming in what Ned could only assume was victorious joy.

Ned watched as the Silverback came forward and shoved the rest away, intent on seeing their enemy's state for himself. Bile rose in Ned's throat as he realized that now he might have to witness the hunter being eaten by the rest of the tribe. But to Ned's amazement and relief, the Silverback stood up and shoved the tribe away, indicating in some way that they should go about their business. Did it mean that Roxton was alive or did it just mean that dinner would be served later? After all, they had already eaten their fellow fallen apemen earlier.

It was well over two hours later before Ned had an answer. Two hours of praying, wishing, and to his shame, mourning. 

But then Roxton moved! 

It was a slight movement, just a hand shifting on the ground, but it was the most glorious thing Ned had ever seen. The stubborn bastard was still alive! Ned almost wept with joy. He waited to see if Roxton was fully conscious, but the man did not move again. Ned forced himself to relax and have hope. Either Roxton didn't have the strength to fight, or common sense finally won out over pride and Roxton realized the wisdom of not antagonizing them further. Still it was a long wait until sundown.

But finally it arrived. Roxton remained slumped in a shadow of a boulder, unmoving and still. Ned knew he had to believe that Roxton was still alive. He couldn't go back without knowing for sure. If nothing else, he would rob the apemen of Roxton's body and bring it home for a proper burial.

            The darkness covered Ned well. The apemen, sure in the fact that their prey would not escape, had fallen asleep. There was only one or two moving around which Ned took to be their version of sentries, though by the looks of them they weren't exactly adept at their job. That suited him fine. Even with the deep, red glow from the magma, shadows abounded, and it was easy for Ned to slip from one to another without arousing suspicion, while the stench from the escaping gases neatly covered his scent.

            It had taken him nearly two hours to gather enough material to stuff down into the fissure to block the vent of steam. Once done, the pressure inside would build, and once it had risen to its peak, it would explode outwards with terrific force, hopefully taking a good chunk of the top layer out with it, leaving the magma free to flow down the hillside.

            It was back breaking work and it took another four hours just to cart all the material to the fissure and still not raise the alarm. There were times he had thought he had lost the element of surprise, but the fumes and constant noise from the numerous fissures had masked his clumsiness well.

            It was only three more hours until dawn. Ned watched his 'boiling pot' from well inside the danger zone. It was necessary to be as near to Roxton as possible when the thing blew. He would have only minutes to get to the hunter and get him out of there before the apemen regrouped. He doubted that the beasts would take kindly to him relieving them of their prize. 

He mentally began going over his actions once the fissure blew. What he would do. Where he would go. He didn't really think that any of this was going to work. What chance did two men, one inexperienced and one wounded, have against a full tribe of some very angry apemen? If Roxton was completely unconscious and unable to assist Ned, their troubles would be tenfold. Ned didn't think he could carry the burly hunter that far on his own. This whole thing was a gamble and there were too many ways for it all to go wrong. Ned was relying a great deal on faith. 

The agony of waiting again was at hand. He had no way to judge when the pressure inside the fissure would build enough to blow. His knowledge of science was haphazard at best. If Challenger were here he could forecast the length of time it would take down to the last second. But that was not the case. Ned only had himself to judge, and it could be anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours. It was out of his hands and completely up to fate.

So when the fissure blew twenty minutes later, Ned nearly jumped out of his skin, unable to stifle a shout, which thankfully couldn't be heard above all the noise. The ground shook, the night sky filled with glowing lava, and the venting steam screamed through the new cracks opening in the earth.

The confusion that commenced in the apemen was spectacular in its own right. Panicked and terrified they scattered in various directions, most importantly away from Roxton and Ned. There was so much chaos that the path out of the valley was clear. The apemen hadn't even thought to flee that way yet. 

Ned wasted no more time but sprinted for Roxton and slid to a halt beside him. Close up the hunter looked far worse than Ned had even imagined. Blood and bruises covered him. His face was swollen and scraped. His heart heavy, knowing there was nothing he could do at the moment, Ned tried to rouse the hunter. 

"Roxton!"

The hunter's eyes flickered and weighted eyelids dragged open at the sound of the voice, one that Roxton didn't think he'd ever hear again. "Malone?" His voice was thick and muddled.

"That's right. Come on. We're getting out of here!" He put an arm around Roxton's waist and heaved the man off the ground. 

Still disoriented, Roxton tried to stand and let out a strangled scream as his broken leg attempted to take on his weight. The man started slipping to the ground, the pain robbing him of his pitiful hold on consciousness.

Ned did the only thing he could. He put a shoulder under the man and hefted him across his back before Roxton slid all the way to the ground and any chance of lifting the man back up would be lost. Ned knew he wouldn't be able to carry Roxton for long, but if he could just get out of the valley and out of sight of the apemen, he could think of a way out of this. 

Gobs of molten magma fell around them but miraculously missed them. A river of lava yawned open in front of them to their right, blasting ferocious heat in their faces, blocking Ned's escape to the treehouse. Cursing, he veered left and struggled across the valley toward the remaining open path. Any minute he expected the apemen to take notice and chase after them. There was so much noise, Ned couldn't be sure if they hadn't already, but he didn't dare look behind him without stopping and thereby lose his momentum. This was their only chance. If they were caught it was all over anyway. So he concentrated solely on putting one foot in front of the other, bearing the weight of his friend, desperate to succeed where he had previously failed. He wasn't going to fail this time.

He almost let out a sob of relief when he reached the security of the jungle, even though they were on the opposite side of where they needed to be to reach the treehouse. They would have to circumvent the apemen's territory, but right now he didn't care. His legs were like lead and the air in his lungs was like cold acid as he labored. Not daring to stop, he struggled on, searching with frantic eyes for a place of safety, someplace where he could catch his breath and see to Roxton.

A grove of ferns ringed by trees offered him his first chance of solace. He tried to ease Roxton to the ground as gently as he could but his fatigued muscles would not comply. They tumbled to the soft bed in a pile. A sharp gasp showed that Roxton had regained consciousness. 

"Sorry," Ned mumbled through his desperate attempts to draw needed air into his starving lungs.

"It's … all right," Roxton wheezed. He laid a hand on Ned's shoulder. "Thank you." It was voiced with such sincerity that Ned covered the hand with his own and nodded. 

"I couldn't …leave you there."

Roxton took a look around them. "And we can't… stay here."

Ned glanced back the way they had come, furrows of fear etched on his face. "Are they following us?"

"Not yet."

"You think they will?"

"With absolute … surety. This is a … personal thing."

"I sort of figured that. Any idea why?"

Roxton shook his head. "The Silverback … he's different." He covered a cough, which only brought a grimace of agony and an arm up to brace his chest.

"How bad are you hurt?" Ned asked.

Roxton said nothing but raised pain filled eyes to him. 

The answer was obvious. "Can you move?" Ned asked.

"Just get me up," the older man assured him.

Ned complied, trying to be as gentle as he could and knowing that there was little that could be done at the moment. First thing was to get someplace safe, and then there would be time to take account of their state and do what they could to rest and heal.

Ned took on as much of Roxton's weight as he could as they struggled through the brush. Roxton's breathing was more just a labored hiss as he moved, but he didn't utter a word and he didn't falter. He knew the stakes as well as Ned. 

When he finally did speak, thirty exhausting minutes later, it was only one word, spoken in a strained, hard rasp.

"Stream."

Ned gazed ahead of them and saw a stream cutting its way through the jungle. He understood immediately. The water would cover their scent. Roxton's blood was like a beacon. It dripped on the ground leaving a plain trail for the pursuing apemen to follow. Ned veered for it. 

The water was cold which was good. It revived both of them. It wasn't too deep thankfully, but the rocks beneath the surface were slippery. They stumbled often. It didn't take a genius to realize that they were losing ground, not gaining it. Through his hold on Roxton, Ned could feel the man's strength fading away. Waves of heat were radiating from the hunter. Infection had set in and his body was fighting it the only way it could: a fever. It would rapidly sap him of his remaining energy. 

Ned was torn. He had no idea what to do next. They couldn't go much further; Roxton wasn't going to make it, not without help. Also, Ned wasn't strong enough to continue carrying him. And leaving him wasn't an option, not after all they had gone through so far. 

Staggering to a halt in midstream with Roxton hanging limp off him, Ned wracked his brain for a solution while he caught his breath and shifted his hold on his friend. His lungs felt as if they were on fire and his chest was gripped so tight that he thought his heart would burst from the exertion of just drawing breath. 

Then he heard it, over his tortured inhalations, over the babbling of the water around him, over the soft rise of the wind, a terrifying sound.

Apemen crashed through the jungle, their voices raging. 

They were coming.

Continued in Part Four


	4. Hidden

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

_Disclaimers and Notes: See Chapter One_

Hidden 

Part Four

Fear gave Ned sudden inspiration. He dragged an insensible Roxton over to a small grove of roots beside the stream. He hadn't noticed it till they were right on top of it. A portion of the tree's roots were out of the water, eroded away from the stream's constant pressure during a high flood period. It was damp but it would hide Roxton till Ned could lead the apemen on a merry chase. Then he would circle back. It would buy them the time he needed to take care of Roxton's injuries.

He sequestered the hunter into the small grove and covered him with some brush weaving them through the arching roots as best he could to conceal him. 

"I'm coming back, Roxton," he assured the man. He wasn't sure if his friend could hear him or not, but Ned wanted the man to know he wasn't abandoning him. But Roxton gave no indication that he understood. He laid limp and shivering, eyes closed.

Reluctantly, Ned crawled out. The sounds of his pursuers were louder now. Gaining his feet, the journalist took off upstream, crawling out of the stream a few feet further up, leaving a trail a blind apeman could follow. He let out a shout to entice them so they wouldn't be looking too closely around them as they passed Roxton's hiding place.

Again the weight of responsibility fell upon his shoulders. It was up to him now to lead them away using every trick he could remember that Veronica and Roxton had taught him. He hoped he could live up to their expectations. Lives depended on it.

***

The beasts were close; their wild crashing through the brush was loud and terrifying as it roared in his ears. Ned ran along the stream for two miles and then veered abruptly off so they couldn't outflank him. He had seen such maneuvers often performed from his balloon vantage point while observing battles during the War. This would allow him to circle back towards the stream. He would come up behind them and then lose them again in the water. At least that was his strategy. 

However, exhaustion had other plans. His legs were like lead and it was an effort to just pick them up constantly and move them forward. Common sense told him that he couldn't outrun them forever. Therefore, he had to outsmart them. He just prayed it wouldn't take too much effort.

            His feet unexpectedly tangled in some vines and he fell hard. Something sharp scraped across his cheek leaving it bloody and burning. He lay dazed for an undeterminable amount of time, drifting towards a world that offered rest and peace. 

And death.

            He shoved himself back up, shaking his head to clear the fog, and gathered his legs beneath him, pulling the grasping vines roughly from his ankles in frustration. He had lost precise minutes; how much he didn't know. He took off again, shoving his misery aside. He had one thought: lose his pursuers.

            The stream had to be somewhere ahead of him. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. With the way his luck was running, he'd find himself back at the apemen's camp before long. Then came the beautiful sound of the babbling water. It was like heaven and it gave Ned the strength he needed to press on. He gained the stream and stopped to drag a few handfuls of the liquid to his tortured throat. He gulped at it as quietly as he could.

            A dark shape crossed the path in front of him and his hand paused halfway to his mouth, the water dribbling down through his frozen fingers, terror drilling at his chest. 

It was the Silverback! 

            _How the hell had the thing doubled back so fast? Had it predicted what he was trying to do?_  Ned tried to calm himself. Now wasn't the time to lose one's head. As far as he could tell, it didn't appear as if the Silverback had seen him yet.

            He couldn't lead it back to Roxton now, and it wouldn't take long for the Silverback to find his scent and track him where he entered the stream. Scanning for more of the beast's brethren, he jerked his head wildly about, but to his relief there was no other apemen in the vicinity. For now at least.

            He grabbed a pocketful of stones and jammed them in his pockets. A plan was forming. Desperate and pathetic in his mind, but with only precious seconds to formulate one, it was the best he could do. He had no interest in fighting this devil on his own as defenseless and outmatched as he was at the moment.

            He crawled out of the water, so as not to make more noise and tried to get ahead of the beast before it came back to the stream looking for him. About twenty-five feet above where he last saw it, he jumped into the water with a splash and made a ferocious amount of noise as he ran upstream, hollering and splashing.

            It took only moments before there was a crashing in the brush as the Silverback was alerted to his presence. Ned ran for his life, looking for the one thing that he knew would be his sole salvation. If he didn't find what he was looking for in the next few minutes, he was a dead man, for already the creature behind him was howling for the rest of its tribe.

            With an elated shout, he spied what he needed: a thick tree limb hanging out over the stream. He leaped for it, his hands scraping raw on the gnarled bark as they grasped for a firm hold. He swung his legs up and over the limb. 

He had done it! He hung there gasping, lying prone along its length. But he wasn't safe yet. He pushed himself up higher to where the foliage was denser and would hide him. He had only seconds. The sound of the pursing apemen was just around the bend. 

            The minute they appeared, Ned froze. Any movement or sound now would cause them to look up and his ruse would be over. They were masters of the treetops and there would be no way for him to win the fight on their terms. 

            Trying to quiet his heaving breath and praying that the sound of his strident heartbeat could not be heard in the still, hushed air, he hunched over in the leafy branches, watching the apemen, five of them, mill around beneath him. They were obviously puzzled. They no longer heard his splashing and yet they couldn't smell his scent on the stream banks either. 

            It wouldn't take long for them to figure out that if he wasn't in the water and he hadn't climbed out on the banks, he had to have gone elsewhere, like up. These apes weren't as stupid as he first alleged them to be. He knew they'd reason it out eventually, at least the leader if none of the others.

            But for that, Ned had one more ploy left. He pulled out the handful of stones from his pocket, slowly and carefully. Then with teeth clenched, he threw them upstream, their falling mass striking the water in a raucous fashion. Every apemen's head jerked up and then they were off, racing toward the sound. 

            Ned threw a few more further on, using his arm now like he was on the baseball field. He could throw a hell of a distance, especially if his life depended on it. All those days at the park finally paid off. As soon as the apemen were gone, he lowered himself down quietly and snuck off downstream, keeping to the water where his scent was hidden. He hoped Roxton was still waiting for him and that nothing else, like a raptor, had discovered an easy meal.

***

The ballroom at his parent's estate would not stop spinning. It was making him ill. John Roxton put a hand out to the wall to try and stop it forcefully. But to no avail. He could feel the friction beneath his hand, and the heat that it generated. Suddenly he couldn't pull his hand away. The heat increased. The sleeve of his white dinner jacket caught fire.

Frantic now, he flung himself back and fell hard to the ground. He tried to remain calm even as the flames engulfed him. 

_Don't scream. You mustn't scream. _

He tried to pat the flames out but they were searing his flesh. Reaching down to work on his legs, he noticed that one of them was missing. Then he screamed.

He jerked violently out of the nightmare and flailed for a moment in the damp brush. The agony in his leg told him it was just a dream. He clamped down on the scream in his throat and thankfully it came out only as weak, tortured sob. 

His vision wasn't cooperating so he couldn't determine where he was. It was wet and cold though. His body shivered. Despite the dampness, he could feel a fever burning under his skin. The air around him smelled earthy and decaying. A small bog of some sort. He could feel the water from the stream lapping at his legs. But still it was better than the last place he had regained consciousness. 

He kept blinking in an attempt to clear his vision. Eventually it helped and the tiny grove came into focus. He didn't remember getting here, but he chalked it up to Malone's handiwork. He had to give the lad credit. It wasn't a bad hiding spot in a pinch. 

But where was Malone? 

Most likely the journalist had tried to lead the pursuing apemen away. When he had lost consciousness, Malone had no choice but to abandon him and seek some way of throwing those bastards off their trail. He hoped the lad was all right. Unarmed and alone against a horde of some very angry apemen wasn't something the hunter wished on anyone, and he was in no shape to help Malone if things went poorly out there.

Shifting in the mud, he took stock of himself. What he found wasn't very good. Aside from the numerous welts and scratches, he gently prodded a large gash on the back of his head, sitting atop a rather sizable knot. That explained his vision problems and the queasiness he was experiencing. Each shallow breath made his chest ache and indicated that some of his ribs were either broken or cracked. And besides that, his hat was missing.

He was a mess.

His swollen leg however was the crowning glory. His ankle sat at an odd angle, well off from its normal position. Pulling apart his pants right above the boot, he could see the cut made by the impact of the rifle. Hissing harshly through clenched teeth, he examined the wound and was relieved to find that the bone had not pushed its way through the skin. He didn't think the gash needed stitching. It was more important to set the bone.

But not now. Instead he just settled for wrapping a tight bandage around the still oozing wound and washing away as much of the blood as he could. He was afraid something just as horrible as apemen would track it to him. 

Eventually he flopped back, breathing roughly, sweat dotting his skin, the back of his dry throat convulsing as his nausea flared. Allowing himself to just lay there and readjust to his predicament, he tried to think of what needed to be done, but his brain was too consumed with pain to be of much help.

But the one thing it did register was movement just outside his hiding place. Fear and panic almost overruled his sense of logic. He'd be damned if he let himself fall back into the hands of the apemen, or into the jaws of a ravenous dinosaur. Trembling hands grabbed a stout rock and he waited with arm upraised, ready to bash in the skull of the first apeman or raptor to stick its head through.

To his surprise it was a bedraggled journalist.

"Malone!" he gasped, dropping the rock.

"Roxton!" Ned crawled into the grove with him. He eyed the rock. "That's no way to greet a friend."

The hunter managed the barest of smiles. "Sorry. You sounded like an apeman to me."

Lifting an eyebrow, Ned retorted, "I'll try not to take that personally."

Already weakened by just that small exchange, Roxton collapsed back against the roots of the tree they were hiding in. Ned didn't like the look of the man at all. He was pasty white and every bruise and gash stuck out in a vivid fashion against the pale skin.

"Did you lose them?"

"I think so. I left them heading in the opposite direction. How long it will take them to figure out they're going the wrong way…" Ned shrugged, busying himself with trying to gauge Roxton's injuries. He was startled when the man tried to gain his feet.  "Whoa! Where are you going?" 

"We're leaving. We want to be long gone from here when they double back."

"You can't go anywhere till I set that leg!"

"You set that leg and we're not going anywhere. I'll be out for the count for the next few hours. We'll be sitting ducks."

"We're both too exhausted to get far regardless."

"It'll be enough. Get me a stick to use as a crutch and get a branch with lots of foliage on it. We'll use it as a rake to cover our tracks. We'll go as far as we can and find ourselves a more defensible position. Then you can have at the leg. All right?"

It wasn't all right, but Ned really didn't know what else to do. There was too much logic in what Roxton was saying. Besides the grove was much too damp anyway to stay in. Roxton's eyes were glassy and bright showing the onset of a high fever. How the man was still able to think clearly at all amazed him. He knew it wouldn't last much longer. 

Finally he nodded, agreeing with the hunter's plans. In truth, he was relieved that the man had taken some of the responsibility out of his hands. It was that much less weight he had to carry around on his shoulders. He handed Roxton his canteen and told him to fill it up while he scouted around for the other items.

It didn't take him long with all the debris around, and the beauty of it was that he didn't even have to leave the stream. There must have been a storm recently, which had brought down a great deal of branches. He was back at Roxton's side in just minutes, items in hand. He rummaged in his pack for a moment and pulled out Roxton's hat and set it rakishly on the hunter's head.

He shrugged. "I figured you'd want it."

Roxton offered a cocky smile. "Damn right." He adjusted the position slightly and then nodded. He was ready.

Together they exited the small haven that had saved their lives, and then with Ned taking on most of Roxton's weight again, they departed the stream, covering their tracks as they went.

***

Challenger and the others knew they were on dangerous ground. All but Marguerite had been here before and even she understood that they were entering an unholy place. It was a hellish abode where the apemen lived. 

Veronica was in the lead and was bringing them to a safe vantage point, and Marguerite was sure the huntress used that term very loosely. Nothing was safe where apemen were concerned. The thought of Roxton in their clutches made the hand that gripped her heart squeeze. Her fingers constantly brushed her pistol strapped to her side. She would make the heathens pay in ways they had never imagined. She had made men scream before; so would these bastards. 

A part of her wanted a fight, the part of her that she always kept in check for the most part, unless, of course, marauders or apemen were besieging them. It wasn't particularly lady like, but then she didn't quite classify herself as a lady either. 

Right now, all she wanted was to find Roxton alive or there was going to be hell to pay. It was never wise to make Marguerite Krux mad. 

Challenger's hand on her arm brought her silent ranting up short. Up ahead of them, Veronica was crouched low beside a boulder and looking over an escarpment. She motioned them up. They scuttled to her and gazed down.

Below them was a view into Dante's Inferno. New rivers of molten lava had cut through the field. Noxious fumes and plumes of scalding steam rose high in the air.

"What happened here?" Challenger hissed. It hadn't been this way when last he visited. 

Veronica pointed out a large bleeding fissure. "It must have blown recently."

"Do you see Malone or Roxton anywhere?" Marguerite asked. Her nerves were frazzled as bad as her hair in all the steam and heat.

"No. I don't think they're here. I only see women and children." Veronica's voice held disbelief.

"Where are the males?" Summerlee inquired. "Isn't it rather odd that they're all missing?"

"Very," Challenger told him. He regarded the young woman beside him. "You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you, Veronica?"

She cast him a sober glance. "They're out hunting."

"Hunting what?" Marguerite hissed.

"Malone," she responded.

Marguerite paled at the thought. Then she cast in her own thought. "Roxton too. I think they both got away. Perhaps when this eruption happened they had their chance."

"Either that or they were caught in the magma," Summerlee pointed out. It seemed impossible that both men had survived this hell.

"No!" Veronica snapped out. "They're alive."

"I agree," Marguerite decided. She had no choice really. The other option wasn't acceptable yet. Not without proof.

"Well, there's only two ways out of this valley," Challenger said. "They didn't get out the way we came in, so that means they went south."

"That's deeper into the jungle and into cannibal country," Veronica noted bitterly.

"Then that's where we're going." Marguerite couldn't believe those words just came out of her mouth. The others looked over in surprise at her. "What?" she snapped. "We've already come this far."

Summerlee smiled warmly at her and patted her arm. "Bravo, my dear."

"Let's get out of here," Veronica said. It was already almost midday and they had a lot of ground to cover before they even picked up Roxton and Malone's trail, if they could. It was a big jungle. They would circle the camp and veer towards the southern canyon. With luck, they would pick up some sign of the two men.

***

Continued in Part Five


	5. Nerves

Brothers In Arms

by Susan Zell

Disclaimers and Notes: Please see Chapter One Nerves 

Part Five

Ned and Roxton had been walking steadily for an hour, veering unerringly toward the direction of the treehouse and help. Or at least Ned thought it was the right direction. The heavy span of trees with their high, full canopies made such things difficult, but the shadows on the ground that appeared occasionally helped keep him straight.

And the term walking was a generous one. It was a shuffling gait, agonizing and slow, but it moved them both forward. It had gotten to the point where Ned was dragging Roxton along. Ned's muscles burned; his lungs labored at their task. It didn't take a genius to know that they were at the end of their rope.

Roxton had been mumbling incessantly for the last half hour, though nothing Ned could make out. They had to stop. He couldn't make the man go on any longer. They needed to find shelter, a place to lick their wounds. 

"…William…" Roxton clutched at Ned's arm. "…William…leave me…run."

Ned wasn't sure who William was. The hunter craned his head around to try and look up at him, his gaze glassy and unfocused. 

"I'm not leaving you," Ned assured the sick man.

"…no…don't let it get you…run…RUN!"

The hunter began to flail, afraid of something in the murky recesses of his mind. Ned shambled to a halt and grabbed Roxton firmly. "Roxton, it's Ned! It's all right. We're stopping to rest. You're safe!"

Roxton stared at Ned for a long moment, and then it seemed like he actually recognized him for the first time. He nodded, his head dropping back down to his chest. Ned barely held him as the big man slumped. With the last vestiges of his strength, he hoisted the unconscious Roxton across his shoulders once more. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them. He knew he couldn't carry him for long. He had to find shelter and fast. 

Providence was with them as his eye caught a dark silhouette amongst the greenery. It was a cave. He almost wept with relief. 

After checking to see if it was all clear, he brought Roxton inside. He then went about gathering what he knew he'd need for the night, including the necessary herbs and assorted botany that he had seen collected and prepared by Summerlee numerous times over. The little professor had given them all detailed lessons in botanical first aid the first few weeks of their stranding. A necessity, he had called it. Right now, Ned couldn't agree more.

He covered his tracks in the area. It took time but he knew that sloppiness now would only add to their problems later. He hurried through it as best he could and then went straight back to the cave. The worst part of the day lay before him. He had to set Roxton's leg. 

The man was insensible, caught in the ravages of the fever. His mumblings grew more and more frantic.

"Forgive me, Father…my fault… dead … William…I shot him…"

Ned tried not to listen; the man's painful past was being laid out before him in a tortured confession. He felt like an intruder. There were stories about Roxton's life, most of them glorious and grand, but then there were others, bleaker and hidden. None of his fellow explorers would speak of it. He was sure Marguerite knew something, and perhaps Challenger, but never would they relate the tale. Now Ned was given the best seat in the house and he felt ashamed.

He tried to bring the man out of it, talking to him while he tended his leg, telling him who he was and where they were, but Roxton wasn't listening to him.

Ned carefully removed the boot from the wounded leg, relieved that there was a strong pulse in the foot despite the swelling. The bone was broken just above the top of the boot. Miraculously it was a clean break by the feel of it. It hadn't protruded through the skin, which was damn lucky. Ned had set broken bones before on the battlefields. He could do this one too. But for some reason it was more difficult. Maybe because Roxton was a friend, not just some strange soldier's face.

He braced himself and pulled hard in one swift, steady motion. 

Roxton screamed, an unholy sound that echoed the same torment caused by the Silverback when the leg was originally broken. Ned thought he was going to be sick. 

"I'm sorry," he kept muttering over and over. He sat hunched over Roxton's leg, letting his rolling stomach settle, sweat dripping off his face. This pain he caused his friend would haunt him forever. He cursed the apemen, the leader in particular. It would pay, that he swore, even if he had to hunt the thing down himself. He would see to it personally that Roxton was avenged for what it had done to him.

To the best of his knowledge, the bone was set in place. But he was no real expert. It didn't help knowing that if he was wrong, the leg might never be the same. What if Roxton was crippled permanently? How would he survive in this place? Only the fit survived and barely that. Malone wished he had acted earlier. This might have been avoided. If only he had thought up his magma plan right at the start…

"I'm sorry, Roxton. God, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"Non…sense," came a weak reply.

Ned jerked his head up to see Roxton staring at him with bright, fevered eyes. He was conscious again. The agony of setting the bone back in place must have shocked him out of his delirium.

"Roxton!" He scrambled over to the man and lifted his head and shoulders up on his knees. "How are you doing?" It was a lame question but it was the first thing that popped into his brain.

"Don't make me … answer that." Roxton couldn't begin to tell Ned just how dreadful he felt. Besides, the lad had more than enough on his mind already. Ned grabbed the nearby canteen and offered it to Roxton who drank it eagerly. The hunter had never felt so parched.

"Easy, easy. There's plenty." Ned knew the high fever was sucking all the body fluids from Roxton. He was on the verge of serious dehydration. Any liquids he could get into the man while he was conscious was a good thing. 

Roxton drank till exhaustion made him stop. "How…we…doing?" he inquired in between gulps of air.

"You want the truth or the lie?"

"I'd almost say lie to me … but go ahead … give it to me straight."

"We are in serious trouble. We're too far from the treehouse to expect help; I have no idea whether I lost the apemen; we're stuck in a hole which could be home to a dinosaur for all I know; your leg is broken and I have no idea if I set it properly; you're running a high fever; -- and I'm hungry."

Offering a fractional smile, Roxton gave a laugh that was more just a pant. "Oh, is that all."

Ned grinned back crazily for a moment as his emotions banked high and then abruptly subsided again. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "What a mess this is."

"But it's … not your mess, Malone. Just … bad luck." He had overheard enough of Malone's lament to know the lad blamed himself.

"That's all I ever have. I should have--"

"You did … nothing wrong. Our position was … overrun."

Swallowing back his shame, Ned noted, "It was odd."

"We were targets … from the start."

"That one apeman…"

"The Silverback."

"Yeah," Ned replied. "He's almost intelligent. Scary intelligent."

"You see? Not your fault. You've met your arch nemesis in that ape."

Ned cast him a shocked look. To his amazement, there was a gleam in the sick man's eye and a smirk encircling his lips. Roxton was kidding with him, in his condition. Ned laughed. "You bastard."

"You're not the first to notice."

"You're nuts, you know that." But Ned found that the light banter helped. He felt as if he was wound as tight as a spring. His muscled unclenched and he slumped a bit.

"Good man." Roxton nodded, pleased that he had gotten his friend to relax a little. 

Ned sighed. "You won't say that after I finish splinting your leg."

Roxton actually paled a bit. "You're not done?"

Ned gave a slow shake of his head. He eased the man back down onto the bedding of ferns he had dragged in. "It's going to hurt."   
  


"I know," came the drained reply. 

"This would be a good time to pass out again."

"Give me a moment and I might oblige you."

"Feel free."

Ned set two sticks to brace the break against Roxton's leg. Then he grabbed the roll of bandages he had retrieved earlier from his pack of rapidly dwindling supplies. Roxton's pack had been lost, probably being toted by some smug female ape as a prize. He began to wrap the bandage around Roxton's leg, lifting it ever so slightly. Immediately, Roxton drew in a sharp hiss. 

"Sorry." Ned paused, hesitant now to hurt his friend.

"Don't … stop," he gasped out

His face pinched with anguish, Ned continued, trying to ignore the man's agonized sounds. The hunter's hands were convulsively twisting the brush beneath him. "I broke my arm once," he admitted to Roxton, trying to distract the man. 

"Only once?"

Ned scowled. "Funny. You'll never guess how."

"You want me … to guess?" the hunter exclaimed incredulously.

"Sure, why not?"

"Geezus! All right. You fell." Roxton was trying desperately not to crawl away from the pain. He gripped hold of the rock wall beside him as if that would keep him in place.

"Yes. But how?" Ned urged.

"You tripped," he ground out. 

Ned cocked his head. "Give me a little credit."

Roxton let out a deep curse as a bolt of agony ripped through his leg. "Malone!"

"Come on." He knew he was losing the battle, but it was all he could think of to help Roxton through this torture. "Guess."

"You fell out of a damn tree!" The last was almost a scream. The hunter panted through the pain.

"Nope. Try again."

"I'm going … to hurt you, Malone. I swear it!"

"One more guess. You'll laugh. I promise."

"I better! Hurry!"

"I'm trying. Almost there." He wrapped the bandage up around the top of the splints.

"Out of the balloon… you fell out of the balloon!"

Ned gave a horrible imitation of a laugh, keeping his head down and away from Roxton so he wouldn't see the dampness in his eyes, his anguish over his grisly deed. 

"No, I fell out of my playpen," he admitted to the man in a shaky tone. "Only time I ever really hurt myself. Well, until I came here."

"Now you're … a bloody disaster." Roxton let out a trembling snicker.

"I think you have me beat this time."

"You … done?" It was more a desperate plea than a question.

"Almost." Ned worked as fast as he could, knowing that the pain was excruciating.

"You're … done!" It was practically a scream.

Ned tied the last knot. "I'm done," he shouted back. "I'm done!"

Roxton sagged. "Oh God." He dragged up a hand up to his head and covered his face for a moment; far beyond speech he lay there, shaking. 

Time passed and Ned busied himself brewing some tea, something Professor Summerlee swore by for fevers. He glanced over at Roxton whose breathing had finally eased and the tremors had ceased. The hand had dropped away. His face regained some color, and his eyes refocused, looked outwards instead of deep within. He looked at Ned. His lips framed a single word: Thanks.

Ned nodded. He brought over the tea and Roxton drank what he could. The wounded British lord felt so sick. If he drank too much he knew he wouldn't hold it down. 

"Whatever happened to passing out?" Ned inquired of the older man.

"I forgot. But I might … do it now."

"Get some sleep, Roxton," Ned told him. "I'll keep watch."

Roxton obeyed, unable to fight exhaustion off any longer. He offered one last thing. "We're getting … out of this, Malone."

Ned turned away. "How's that splint feel?" he deflected in a monosyllable tone. He didn't believe Roxton for a second.

At that, the man struggled to stay conscious, his hand reaching out to grasp Ned's arm. "I mean it. Lose faith … and you lose the battle." 

The journalist looked back at him, but the hunter had lost his own battle and sank into the void, his chest rising and falling faintly in the murky light, his fingers still gripping Ned's shirt convulsively. The younger man eased the hand down and set it across the Roxton's chest.

He knew Roxton was right. He had almost given up. And if he did that, then they might as well roll over and die right now. The secret to survival Veronica had once said, was keeping a positive outlook at all times. Believe in it and it will get you through. Fail that and it was over.

 Ned was exhausted and emotionally drained. His addled brain was having trouble determining how long it had been since this disastrous hunt had gone wrong. Thirty-four hours maybe. Too long. He hadn't slept or eaten since then. 

Muscles protested as he positioned himself at the entrance to their small cave. He was practically half the size and weight of Roxton and he knew his abused muscles wouldn't be able to carry him for long if he didn't get some rest. But he was also terrified to sleep.  Who knows what could come upon them in their deep slumber? But he had no choice; his body was on the verge of collapse. So with terror lurking in the shadows, Ned full into a restless sleep, a prayer on his lips, his hands curled around a jagged stick, his only defense against wild beasts and murderous apemen.

He was startled awake by a voice shouting. Roxton was caught in a fevered dream again, his strained voice muttering in the darkness. Evening had fallen and their meager fire had died. Ned stoked the coals so he could tend to Roxton, bathing his damp brow with a wet cloth, checking the bandages, damp, dim, gray shapes in the gloom.

Roxton's eyes flickered open, but he wasn't seeing anything in this world. They seemed centered elsewhere, else when.

"Why are … you still here?" he scolded Ned.

The journalist was unsure as to whom exactly the big man was speaking. "Roxton…."

"Damn you, William… get out of here … if you stay … you'll die … because of me … all because of me … I'll shoot you again … Father will hate me."

William was Roxton's elder brother, who had died in a hunting accident. It was chilling to discover that Roxton was the cause, and the guilt that consumed the hunter was swallowing him whole in the shadows that filled his fevered mind.

"We're not going to die. I'll get us out of this somehow." The words sounded hollow. But it was all Ned could do to console the man. 

He tried to get the man to drink again but Roxton fought him, spilling most of it. He was distraught that Ned wasn't listening. It was obvious he thought Ned was his brother William. The hunter's hands shoved at him to leave, but he was too weak to be effective. Roxton finally slumped against the journalist, too feeble to continue his efforts.

Ned just held him. It was many minutes later when Roxton took a deep breath and looked up at Ned. 

"Ma…lone?"

A relieved sigh exhaled through Ned's lips. The hunter was once again lucid. "Yeah. Still here."

The hunter drew in a shuttering breath. "… leave me … get help."

That took Ned by surprise. The hunter sounded almost defeated. "No," he insisted

"Damn … it … Malone. I'm dying … save yourself."

Anger filled Ned. "What about all that talk before about not giving up? You think it only works one way? It doesn't! We're both getting out of here!"

"I'll slow … you down. Go. Bring the others."

"What if something finds you? A dinosaur? The apemen? You'd be defenseless."

"Hate … to say it, Malone, but you alone … won't hold them off … either."

"Maybe not. But I'm thinking the treehouse is too far anyway to reach, even by myself. Maybe there's a nearby tribe. Friendly. Where I can get help."

Roxton considered that option. "Where are we?"

Ned shrugged, embarrassed. "Not really sure. Maybe twenty-three miles due north of the treehouse."

"There's no one … out here. No one … but cannibals … and apemen."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving you," he insisted fervently. It had become the mantra of the occasion.

Roxton shook his head wearily, knowing he wasn't going to win this battle either. "Stubborn mule," he muttered to the journalist. His eyes slipped closed and the man retreated back into his weary state of unconsciousness.

Ned wouldn't leave Roxton. _He wouldn't! _ _What kind of a man abandoned his friend?_ _What would Gladys think of such a man? What would Veronica?_ He absolutely refused, regardless of the logic Roxton thought such action held. 

But Roxton was right about one thing. He was dying. Without proper care, the man was not going to last long. Ned had only cursory field doctoring skills, but it wasn't going to be enough to keep the man alive. The infection that had gripped Roxton was bleeding him dry and Ned didn't have any way to reduce it. 

If he left Roxton now, unattended, the man would be dead within two days. It would take at least that long to reach the treehouse and return even at his swiftest speed. And that was if he didn't have to worry about apemen and dinosaurs. It was a death sentence. He'd be damned if he went back home knowing that fact. 

Positioning himself again against the entrance, unable to sleep, he occupied his time sharpening the end of his stick into a definitive weapon. It wasn't much of one, but it made him feel better. He glanced over at the unconscious man whose life he held in his hands. 

He would stay with Roxton till the end.

***

Continued in Part Six


	6. Loss

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

Disclaimers and Notes: See Chapter One Loss 

Chapter Six

The sound of apemen closing in filled the early morning air and roused Malone out of restless doze. 

With his heart crowding his throat, he peered out. He could see dark shapes moving in the murky light. They were searching systematically. Ned was stunned. It wouldn't take them long to find the cave that way. Ned had two choices. First, stay where they were and hope they remained undiscovered. If the apemen found them, it would all be over quickly; he doubted the apemen would be willing to let either of them live long this time. Their losses had been too great on this venture already.

His second option made more sense. Lead them away from Roxton. He had done it once. He could do it again. 

Roxton lay still and silent behind him, but most of the night, he had writhed and moaned, trapped in his grim fever. Apemen's hearing was relatively good. If he started up again, he would give their position away. However, if Ned could attract their attention, they might overlook hear Roxton and Ned could lead them far astray of the hunter's location. 

He was about to step out when he hesitated. What if the apemen caught him? Roxton would be alone. No one would find him in time to help him. It almost made Ned stop his foolhardy action. 

But then Roxton's head thrashed from side to side, his breathing deepening. The delirium had seized him again. Ned knew it was now or never. Leave Roxton and lead the apemen away or fight and die here in this small cave. The latter offered only doom, the former offered at least a shard of hope. 

Ned darted out of the cave. 

He kept himself hidden from view so he was as far away as possible when the apemen spotted him, giving Roxton the space he needed to remain concealed. He crouched low and slipped silently through the terrain. He stopped about thirty-five feet from the cave's entrance. An apeman was no more than ten feet from it and about to discover the hunter's vulnerable presence. 

Ned stood up and shouted. "Over here you bastards!"

Ten hairy heads rose up immediately, their howls and screams reverberated around the small glen. Then they were chasing him. Ned wasted no time but spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction of the cave.

It was a long run, with the apemen more determined than ever, driven so because of the enraged Silverback, as Roxton had aptly named him. In an effort to catch his breath, Ned hid in a small clump of brush, reviewing his position. To his surprise, he witnessed an argument. A few of the older apemen, apparently weary of the hunt, were ready to stop and return home. Immediately the Silverback became enraged and beat them till they moved forward once more, though definitely with less enthusiasm. For the first time, Malone held a smattering of hope.

The Silverback and the few remaining younger males were the main threat now. If Malone could kill the Silverback, he might put an end to all this madness. 

Remove the head and the body falls.

Ned had watched Veronica do exactly that with raptors. They attacked in threes, but sometimes if you could figure out the leader, usually the larger dominant female, the others would fall back and give you a fighting chance. The same had to be done here. And quickly.

The Silverback would never give up. Whether this was a personal vendetta against Roxton or just the fact that it had promised its tribe to rid the plateau of an enemy in a foolhardy ploy to keep power didn't really matter any more. The Silverback was now obsessed with killing Roxton and making a show of it. Such cold, ruthless behavior in a primitive continued to appall Ned. This place was inundated with such brutality. It was no wonder that nothing had evolved beyond it all these years.

He had often wondered why. Was it because the massive presence of the dinosaurs kept man from claiming the title of dominant species as it had elsewhere in the world? Here man was merely lunch and an annoyance. Was that the reason the plateau's natives remained stuck in such barbarity? Who could hope to wield such control over as monstrous creatures as a T-rex? Or maybe was it because time had somehow stopped here in this freakish place and nothing could evolve further than the primitive state?

He doubted he would ever know the real reason. Such speculation was Challenger's forte, not his. He was merely a fanciful creative thinker. He was sure his overly imaginative thoughts on the subject were more suited to the whimsical penny dreadfuls he enjoyed. Still he'd have to remember to ask Challenger about it one day.

If he ever got out of this predicament. His drifting thoughts were a clear indication of his exhaustion.

Absently, he pulled some edible berries off the bush next to him. He ate them ravenously, yet never took his eyes away from the lurching apemen only twenty-five or so feet distant.

The bush suddenly parted in front of him and an apeman's face burst forth.

He had been discovered!

He tried to scramble away but the apeman grabbed the front of Ned's shirt, pulling him close, its teeth yellow and sharp. Ned jerked aside, hearing the material rend, desperate to put distance between them. Gaining his feet, Ned spun his spear like a quarterstaff and landed a solid blow to its head. It stumbled forward as Ned stumbled backward. Instinctively, he brought the wood down hard on its back. It fell and the young journalist ran.

Its cry, however, alerted the others and they converged on where their comrade had fallen. Ned fled on fleet legs, leading them further and further away.

It wasn't until another mile out, with the apemen long behind him, that he began circling back. He no longer heard them lumbering after him and that was a good sign. He slowed his pace, his chest heaving.  He collected what handy things he could while traveling back. There were always plenty of fruits and things around in the jungle and he ate on the move. He was grateful, for his stomach had been gnawing at him incessantly. He had eaten a little of the smoked raptor meat in his pack, but he had saved the rest of it to make a healing broth for Roxton. It was one of the first things he would do when he got back to the cave.

He was approaching the vicinity of where he left the hunter, and so he took great care to listen and take stock of his surroundings. It was prudent to take his time and cover his trail though he anxiously wanted to get back to the cave and Roxton. The sick man had been alone for hours already. Visions of a raptor finding him and dragging the hunter out of the cave had been racing through Ned's over imaginative mind most of the way back. 

Finally he was satisfied that there was no more danger. He eased out from his hiding spot and made for the cave, still taking care to keep sign of his passing to a minimum.

Five feet from the cave entrance, he halted dead in his tracks. There were footprints leading in and out of the cave. Something had been dragged out.

Roxton!

Ned darted inside, heedless of the danger. The cave was empty; most everything was gone. The hunter. The pack. The canteen. Only the matted bed of ferns remained—and Roxton's hat.

The journalist stood there stunned for a few moments. Failure washed over him in waves. A shout of rage bubbled out of his chest and his fist struck the stonewall beside him, not caring about the pain it caused.

_No! This can't be happening!_

He sank to his knees in despair. Roxton has said only apemen and cannibals inhabited this area. Ned's blood ran cold at the thought. It had to be cannibals that had found the defenseless man. He remained on his hands and knees, chastising himself for leaving Roxton alone. He should have stayed with him, defended him. Instead he had chosen the coward's way and ran…again.

"Stop it!" he commanded in a tone almost like Roxton's, guttural and harsh. This wasn't gaining him anything. He had gambled and lost. Grabbing Roxton's hat, Ned backed out of the cave and studied the ground.

The tracks looked fresh, only a couple of hours old. He would follow them. No more running! He felt a rage inside him the likes of which he had never known. Cannibals, apemen. It didn't matter. Someone was going to pay and blood would spill.

***

It was another two hours of following the trail, an obvious one at that, before he saw the village in the distance sequestered in a low valley. It was a high walled camp, well fortified against attack by dinosaurs. They utilized a technique similar to the Zanga tribe of placing thick sharpened poles in the ground around the village as a deterrent to large predatory animals.

It didn't look to be a village of cannibals. They rarely made such fortifications, being more nomadic and lazy. Also, what gave Ned more hope was the fact that they had not dragged Roxton here, but instead had carried the hunter. How they carried him was not clear though. They could have very easily carried him back like game lashed to a pole.

Please be alive, he begged the hunter.

Ned scrambled down the slope to the gate. There appeared no way to sneak into such a fortress so he chose the next obvious thing. To his defense, it was the rage still coursing through him that made him so bold. He walked straight up to the main gate. He planted himself in front of it, filthy and bloodied and clutching his makeshift spear, his eyes hard and his face grim.

Immediately, he was challenged. Painted men stared down at him from the safety of the wall, chattering in a language unknown to Ned, with their crossbows and spears all pointed directly at him.

"I demand you take me to Roxton," he shouted at them, despite the fact that he knew they wouldn't understand a word he said. Holding up Roxton's hat made it perfectly clear who he was after.

One of the guards disappeared. There was a long lull before the gate swung open before him. A trio of armed guards approached him and tried to relieve him of his spear. Ned pushed one back only to be grabbed by the other two. The spear was wrenched from his hands. A tall guard with half his face stained a dark red, perhaps by blood, nudged him forward into the compound. Bristling, Ned complied.

The interior was a surprise. Various huts, complex and detailed in nature, ringed a large open area in the center. There a large fire was burning, a rotund cauldron positioned over it, bubbling with a thick stew. Ned swallowed convulsively, knowing all too well what might be in there. 

He swung back to the guard and snarled, "So help me, if you've harmed him, I'll kill you."

The guard seemed nonplussed and again gestured with his crossbow to continue forward. Ned was taken to the largest structure in the village. The inside was murky and cool and it took time for Ned's eyes to adjust to the dim interior. When they did, he saw that it was full of people, men, women and children alike. At the far end was an ornate chair and seated upon it was an older man of silver hair and a large headdress of feathers and bone. 

Ned had seen enough primitive tribes to recognize the chief. A woman with auburn hair tinged dusty by strands of gray sat beside him. Ned lifted his head proudly refusing to show weakness. The elderly chief scrutinized the youthful man in front of him with a casual but searching gaze. One of the guards who had escorted Ned inside showed the chief the spear. 

The chief had the gall to smile at the improvised weapon. Ned's blood boiled again. He was down to his last nerve, frayed and jittery. It wouldn't do to mock his attempts at survival. Unconsciously, he took a step forward and pointed to the chief, using the hat as emphasis. "You stole something from me. I want it back." 

Everyone just stared at him. The chief raised an eyebrow. Hesitatingly, the woman beside the chief leaned toward him and spoke to him. The chief conversed back. Then he nodded to the woman. 

With no further chance to say anything, the chief waved his arm and Ned was pulled away outside the hut. He struggled against them, desperate to make his position known, but it was useless.

He was forcibly removed and directed to another hut. Standing defiantly for a moment before them, he finally accepted he was out numbered when they poked at him with their weapons. With no choice he entered the hut. Again his eyes had to adjust, but through his blurry vision he beheld a most wondrous sight. 

"Roxton!" 

Ned rushed forward to the prone man lying on a straw mat. He was alive! His physical appearance though terrible was a joy for Ned to see. To his relief, there were no other fresh wounds on him. However, his fever still raged high and now his breath was a rattle in his chest. It made the joy he felt at finding his friend fleeting. 

There was a vessel with fresh cool water and Ned used it to wipe the sweat from Roxton's furled brow. 

At the touch, Roxton's eyes flew open, calling, "Marguerite?"

"Roxton, it's me. Malone."

He grabbed Ned's arm in a sad imitation of strength. "Where is she?"

"She's—she's back at the treehouse."

"I need her." Roxton's expression was almost panicked, his green eyes bright and dilated. 

Not knowing what else he could do to assure the sick man, he continued cooling down the burning flesh. Mercifully, Roxton's leg was still set and splinted. Ned had feared that any rough treatment by their new captors would have hurt the man even more. Ned couldn't see how that was possible at the moment, but right now every little thing counted.

A girl entered, no more than sixteen years in age, young and blonde, or at least Ned thought it was blonde. It was slicked back with gray mud, though thankfully the rest of her was clean. In her arms she carried an earthen bowl filled with a vile smelling mixture. A warrior followed and stood boldly at the door.

Ned glared at both of them.

Taken aback for a moment at the man's obvious hostility, the girl turned to the warrior behind her. He nodded his assurance at her, urging her onward. Approaching Ned cautiously, she spoke in her native tongue. When there was no response, she gestured at Roxton with the bowl.

She circumvented Ned by approaching on the opposite side of the sick man, keeping him between her and Ned. She continued to speak, her gaze ever careful for a violent reaction by the stranger.

"I don't understand you," he snapped. "But you're not touching him."

The girl regarded the young man and frowned. The guard spoke again and the girl nodded. A small bundle of twigs and plants were removed from a satchel on her hip and then lit using a torch on the wall. Letting it burn a moment, she blew out the flames and let it smolder. She waved it over Roxton's face a moment and then set it beside her. Dipping into the bowl with her hand to scoop up some of the thick black paste inside, she leaned toward Roxton.

Ned grabbed her arm. "What is that?"

Immediately, the guard stepped forward. The girl raised her other hand and brought him to a halt. The man argued with her. Turning toward Ned, she spoke to him, her voice low and her tone reassuring. She didn't try to pull away from Ned's strong grip.

The journalist battled his fear and tried to apply logic. What should he do? Did she want to cause Roxton harm? Was this just a way to speed the man to his death? But the girl's sincere face and soft words argued differently. 

She used her other hand to trace a line on her cheek and then pointed at Ned's face. For an instant he was puzzled but then he understood. She was offering to use the black pitch on the gash on his cheek as a way to test it for himself before he allowed it to be used on Roxton. Swallowing his apprehension, he nodded. 

She coated her index finger and used her free hand to gently rub some of it on Ned's cut. Immediately it felt like she had touched it with ice, burning it for a few seconds and then freezing it. It went completely numb and the aching pain vanished. 

Slowly he released her hand. She smiled at him and nodded her approval. The guard stepped back. The girl carefully untied the bandage around Roxton's broken leg, taking care not to disturb the splint. The gash beneath was raw and inflamed, red streaks arced away from the wound, a yellow secretion leaking out. It was undoubtedly infected. She smeared the black paste over it, deep into the gash.

With a throttled cry, Roxton jerked upright. Ned caught him as he surged forward. The girl reached out to wave the smoking twigs and herbs in front of the wounded hunter's face again, still speaking in her native voice, soothing and low.

The fumes surrounded him and Roxton sagged back limp again, his breath a ragged gasp. Eventually he sank into his stupor once more as Ned settled him down on the mat. The girl nodded in obvious satisfaction. She set the bundle down behind her and continued to use the rest of the mixture in the bowl on Roxton's remaining wounds. She motioned that Ned should do the same.

The fumes still hung in the air, a sweet, earthy scent that clung to Ned's throat. It made his head spin slightly before it dissipated. He shook his head to clear it. It must be some sort of sedative. At least it would keep Roxton from being in any more pain. For that he was grateful. 

He reached for the bowl. Together the two of them worked in silence, spreading the foul smelling concoction on Roxton's torn flesh. Ned prayed that he had made the right decision in allowing this girl to use her potion. He was at a loss as to what to do, but the girl, with blue eyes so pale they reminded him of an afternoon sky, did not appear to be the blood thirsty cannibal he expected. She genuinely seemed concerned.

She placed a hand on Roxton's chest and held it there while he breathed in a rattling breath a few times. Roxton moaned and attempted to move away. She shook her head at Ned.

Anguish hit Ned like a brick wall. He understood what she was trying to say. Roxton was going to die.

"No!" Ned shook his head fervently at her. "That's not going to happen!" 

Even though she couldn't understand his words, his intent was clear. She regarded him sadly and rose to her feet, motioning to the guard that there was little else she could do for him.

And then they left Ned alone in the dark with his dying friend.

Continued in Part Seven


	7. Hope

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

Disclaimer and Notes: See Chapter One 

Hope

Chapter Seven

Despair settled over Ned. It couldn't end like this, not after so much had happened, the lengths they had taken to survive this ordeal. But he couldn't deny what he saw all too obviously with his own eyes. Roxton's shuttering breath was a death knell. There was blood caked on the corners of the man's mouth. One of the broken ribs had finally punctured through to his lungs. Blood was collecting there and soon he would be lost to them.

Ned's head fell into his hands. To die alone, away from the people they cared about, for that Ned felt only sorrow. What would he tell the others? That he had tried to save the man but failed. He had made every wrong move and only prevented Roxton from getting the care he needed. No matter how difficult, Ned should have gone for help right from the start after the first attack. There would have been time. Together, as a group, they could have rescued Roxton and gotten him home to the treehouse and Summerlee's tending. Then this would all have been nothing but a tragic nightmare. 

But once again, Ned Malone had taken the wrong path, the usual one of least resistance, and this time someone had paid for it with their life. 

"Ned."

It was a mere whisper. Roxton's eyes were upon him. Ned almost turned away, ashamed. 

"Shhh," he choked out instead. "Just rest."

"The apemen…" Roxton coughed violently, a spray of crimson splattered his chest. He curled over the internal pain.

Ned braced him. "Don't worry about them anymore. We're safe from them now."

Roxton breathed easier, trusting his friend implicitly, and laid weak and spent against Ned. Still his gaze struggled to take in their new surroundings. "Where?"

"A village."

"No villages here." He sucked in a harsh gulp of air. "Except cannibals."

"These people would have already eaten us if they were. Besides, you don't look too appetizing right now." Roxton didn't respond to the joke. "I think they're trying to help us," he assured the man.

Roxton dragged a trembling hand through his long, dark hair, matted by blood, sweat and dirt. "My hat?"

Ned chuckled at the man's singular fondness for the object. Twisting around, he procured the hat and gave it to the hunter who breathed a sigh of relief while his hands clutched the brim. 

"Thanks."

"That's why I don't wear one," Ned said. "Too easy to misplace."

Roxton grunted. "And that's why your head … is a target. A man's hat … is his talisman, his badge of honor."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind." He didn't bother to point out how poorly that "talisman" had worked at protecting its bearer during this adventure.

Roxton was silent for a time and Ned thought the big man had drifted off. But then came his deep, rough voice.

"Is Marguerite here?" he asked again.

"No, Roxton, she's not. She's at—"

"Send for her. I need her… need to tell her…"

Ned placed a comforting hand on the older man's head. Roxton's lucidity was slipping once more. "She probably out looking for us right now. They'll find us." 

"It's important…Malone…please."

It broke Ned's heart to hear this. It had been easier to hear Roxton call out for his deceased brother than to hear the man beg to see a woman who probably didn't care if he lived or died. 

"_Please," Roxton implored, his large hand weakly clutching Malone's arm._

Finally Ned could stand the man's anguish no longer. "All right. I'll bring her. You just rest. Get some strength back."

His assurances satisfied the sick hunter and Roxton went limp, drifting back into the oblivion that would soon hold him forever.

Ned didn't move however. He stayed right where he was, praying that since his small lie was given with the best intentions, it therefore made it all right. Anything to make Roxton's passing easier.

The reminder of the night passed that way. Ned dozed only intermittently, listening to Roxton's ramblings and desperate pleas to see either his brother or Marguerite, both of which were far out of Ned's reach. 

By the morning, however, Roxton's silence and stillness were disturbing in comparison. No attempt at rousing the man succeeded. Ned knew the end was near.

A shaft of light pierced the gloominess of the hut as the door was opened and figures entered. Ned immediately angered even though he knew that these people probably didn't deserve it. So far they had done nothing but try to help. It was only his bitterness at himself, at his own failure that made him react so. He tried to quell it. Roxton might be past caring, but his own fate was still in question. It would not do to annoy these people. Though Ned, in truth, didn't care. Never had he felt so defeated.

He rose to meet them. Along with the girl who had helped nurse Roxton yesterday, there was the chief and the woman who had sat beside him in the throne room. Ned was surprised when no guards entered behind them. Once again, to his dismay, he wasn't perceived as a threat.

The girl regarded Roxton sadly, all too aware of his fading life, but she offered Ned a small encouraging smile and then touched the older woman beside her gently.

The older woman stepped toward Ned. "Osha," she said abruptly.

Ned just stared at her. "I don't understand."

The older woman sighed and tapped her chest with her fingers. "I am called Osha." She gestured towards Ned, waiting for reciprocation.

Ned was stunned and then blurted out excitedly, "My God, you speak English! Malone! My name is Malone!"

Osha merely nodded, her dusty hair shifting on her shoulders. Her long face was etched with weariness and age, though most likely she was barely fifty years old. The plateau had a way of aging people well past their prime. She pointed at the hunter lying at her feet. "Him?" she inquired.

"Roxton. His name is Roxton."

She smiled then as if reassured. "We are the Laru." She gestured behind her. "This is Milan, patriarch of our village." The chief inclined his head at Ned.

"I want to thank you for helping us," the journalist stammered, glancing between Osha and Milan, overwhelmed at the sudden turn of events.

"Your enemies are our enemies," Osha said with blatant sincerity. Her voice was slow as if she was taking great care to pronunciate each word properly.

"You mean the apemen?"  
  


Osha nodded. "You are the Tree Dwellers, are you not?"

Ned's mouth fell agape. "How did you… yes, yes, that's right. We live in a tree."

A warmth creased the woman's face. "This one," she pointed at Roxton. "This is the Huntsman, the Killer of Apes?"

Stunned, Ned just stood there for a moment. He finally nodded. "I-I guess so. He's killed apemen."

"Your exploits are known to us. It was the Tree Dwellers who defeated Cassandra and Calista. The Tree Dwellers who rid the valley of the Hive and the Hikari."

"You know about all that?" he stammered, uncomfortable with the sudden elevation to hero.

Osha inclined her head. "For that alone, you are welcome among us."

Turning her head over her shoulder, she conversed in her own language with the young girl for a moment before regarding Ned again. Sighing, Osha regarded Roxton's still form. "He is dying."

"Yes, I know."

"We can help, Ma-lone."

Ned was confused. _Help him to die or help him to live?_ Sticking resolutely to the latter, he inquired, "How?" There rose in him a hope. He would do anything to save Roxton's life.

"He has family? A brother of the blood?"

Ned's hope plummeted. William Roxton was far beyond the ability to aid his younger brother. "Why?" Ned asked tentatively.

Osha pursed her lips but then related, "There is but one way to wipe clean the infection that invades him; it could possibly knit the flesh and bone as well. But there is a danger. Only one of his clan can save him, a brother can offer his spirit."

"Spirit?" Ned was bewildered. "I thought you said there was a cure." Doubt began to take root. Mysticism was not needed here. He needed actual medicine.

"It is a ceremony, a passing of life force, one's spirit energy. But only a brother of the blood can wield it. Otherwise, there could be consequences."

Ned pointed at Roxton, believing the hunter would be willing take the risk. "The man's almost gone already. If there's a chance…"

"You do not understand. The danger is not to the one you call Roxton. The danger is only to the one from whom the energy comes. The ritual requires absolute faith since it is a transfer of spirit. If there is no bond between, then the giver will join him in death. Are you a brother?"

A brother? Perhaps good friends. Certainly that described his bond with Roxton. Since their stranding, they had relied on each other. Roxton had taken him under his wing and had always treated him as an equal, despite their obvious differences. Ned appreciated that. Growing up with three sisters had not allowed him to know what having a brother would entail. However, if Ned had to guess at the experience, he would easily say that Roxton and he shared a brotherly bond, even at its most basic state, but would such a concept be enough to work in this ceremony?

Cold crept up Ned till it gripped his heart. He stared down at Roxton. What right did he have to claim to be a member of Roxton's family, especially after all he had overheard these last few days? But this was Roxton's life he was talking about. The man was at death's door already. If there was even a remote chance of saving him, however slight, shouldn't he take it? 

Maybe this way he could atone for his mistakes; if anyone should have died on this venture, it should have been him. Only a valiant man of honor would give his life for his friend, and in failing that, join him in the great beyond.

"Are you a brother?" Osha asked again.

"Yes." Ned's voice was remarkably calm and firm. He had made his decision. 

Osha spoke to the chief who nodded and then called in some men to bear Roxton outside. Ned made to follow but Osha took hold of his arm in a firm grip.

"The Huntsman is very near to the veil. If he crosses over during the ceremony, you will be drawn to it as well and there will be none to save you."

"I understand."

Her deep green eyes studied him meticulously, her other hand rising to slide up his narrow jaw line and finger his light hair. For an instant Ned thought she had seen through his lie and realized that there was no way Roxton and he could be brothers by blood. The physical differences were all too obvious.

But Osha dropped her arm and said nothing further on the matter, only motioning him to attend.

***

Continued in Chapter Eight


	8. Blood

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

Disclaimer and Notes: See Chapter One Blood 

Chapter Eight

It didn't take long for preparations to be made. The girl, whose name he discovered was Kemshe and the daughter of Osha, took personal responsibility of him. Soon his bare chest, arms and face were covered with strange markings, almost Celtic in design, a geometric language of some sort, which was vital to the ceremony. A huge circle like the sun was painted in the center of his chest. Something about the pattern, the way it flowed over his skin, tingled. At first Ned thought it was an allergic reaction to the dye, but it wasn't like any adverse reaction he had ever had. He felt almost empowered, like new strength and vigor were coursing through him. After the last few exhausting days, he welcomed it. He had a feeling he was going to need it by the day's end.

Kemshe watched him closely, observing his reaction with the well-trained air of an expert. She had done this before. Ned was relieved to see a smile of satisfaction cross her features. Maybe this crazy plan would work after all. He didn't quite believe in all the spiritualness of it, but if the Lost World had taught him anything, it was to keep an open mind. He smiled reassuredly at the girl wanting her to know how much he had appreciated her help. He had a feeling that she had been responsible for much that had happened recently in this village.

Taking his hand in her small one, Kemshe walked him through the village. Lines of people had come out to see him. Ned suddenly felt very uncomfortable. These people wanted to see a hero. Instead they were getting a coward and a liar who was willing to play God with another man's life. 

He stopped so abruptly that Kemshe was pulled back. She regarded him with a perplexed tilt of her head. She mistook his hesitation for fear. Speaking quietly as she had done that night in the hut, she urged him onward. 

Knowing that either way he would appear the coward to these people, Ned finally moved forward again. People offered him support by reaching out to touch him, showing their pride in his selfless act. The ceremony must be a highly honorable one, something that Ned did not feel at all worthy to participate in. In fact, he felt like a charlatan. 

It was a struggle to keep his head raised as he approached the center of the village where the ceremony was to take place. Roxton's body lay on a slab of rock. The surface of which was smooth except for lines focusing in toward the center where Roxton was positioned. His body had also been painted. He looked quite feral and Ned realized that he was no better in appearance. He wondered idly what Gladys would think of him adorned like this. A barbarian most likely, no better than the rest of the plateau's inhabitants.

At the foot of the table stood a large column with a stone atop its peak, a huge red jewel that would make Marguerite's mouth water. It glittered in the sunlight and cast an odd pattern of light about the circle.

The chief stood there and beside him the ever present Osha, whom Ned guessed was the village shaman. The old man placed a gnarled hand on Ned's head and spoke a few words. He smiled kindly and then retreated off the dais, gesturing him over to Osha.

Ned took the old man's place at Osha's side. The woman had exchanged her normal dress for one of incredible beauty, covered in earthy hues and ornate stitching in gold and silver thread. She regarded him with approval and motioned that he should stand at the head of the altar facing Roxton. The hunter's chest was scarcely rising and falling. Ned had to observe it for several seconds before he was satisfied that Roxton was indeed still alive. But only barely.

"Are you ready, Ma-lone of the Tree Dwellers?"

Ned had only moments before been ready to decline the ceremony and confess that he was not Roxton's brother by blood. The embarrassment and falsity of this moment decreed it, but one look at Roxton's fading life and Ned knew suddenly there could be no other way. He was Roxton's one chance at survival. If he backed out now, the man was certain to die. At least this way, there was hope, however dismal. It was worth a shot, regardless that it could mean his own demise. He had to try!

"Yes," he heard himself respond. 

"Then let it begin." She raised her hands upward, palms flat to the sun beating overhead. The prayer she spoke seemed almost like a song, soft and lyrical. It was recited in her own language so he had no idea what she was saying. The rest of the tribe began to speak also, a single phrase murmured at specific intervals. They all had their heads bowed and their eyes closed.

Ned felt uncomfortable and nervous standing there alone, unsure as to what he should be doing. He wished Osha had given him more instructions as to what was expected. Things had happened in such a rush that he had had no time to ask what the ceremony entailed exactly.

A hum reached his ears and he looked around for the source. To his amazement it was the red stone. It began to shine with a brilliance that almost hurt. Ned blinked as he gazed at it. Then he noticed that no one else was. Maybe with good reason.

He was about to look away when a beam erupted out of the stone and struck him dead center in his chest where Kemshe's circle of the sun was drawn. Ned arched backward slightly and then froze in that position, held there by the bizarre energy. His chest felt like it was on fire

He couldn't speak and he couldn't move, but his eyes were still able to look about him. The natives had stopped their chanting and had fallen to one knee, watching him with interest and hope. Ned was amazed to see his chest start to glow a deep shade of crimson. Was he bleeding?

The glow expanded till it encompassed both he and Roxton. The hunter moaned and arched as he was bathed in the crimson energy. Ned couldn't tell if it was having any positive effect on the sick man. But there didn't seem to be any way to stop it. 

Ned only knew pain, raw and terrible, like a knife was wedging its way into his heart, slow and agonizing. He wanted to tell someone that something was wrong, but it was now impossible. Osha was watching him, her face hard and anxious. Did she suspect that he had lied to her? Was he dying because the stone knew he was a fraud? Was this what if felt like to have his life sucked dry? 

It didn't matter. He had to try. He struggled to hold onto his faculties, fighting to make it work. What happened to him in the end didn't matter. It only had to heal Roxton. It had to make everything the way it was. Failing this time wasn't an option.

***

Challenger was surprised when the trail led to the enormous village set into the jungle. Veronica shrugged at him, indicating that she too did not know these people. It was becoming passe to discover new civilizations right on their doorstep. Tribes came and went on this plateau with no rhyme or reason behind their occurrences. 

It had taken far longer than anticipated to pick up Malone's trail and for a time they had lost it completely by the stream. They had been able to determine that the two men were indeed together though Roxton was badly injured. The blood and the times when only a single set of footprints was visible told the story. Their search of the area had been mostly guesswork. Veronica was amazed at how well Malone had covered his trail. However, it had been both a blessing and a curse, since it prevented them from finding them quickly. The apemen though had possessed less finesse. Fear drilled into them as they followed their enemy, knowing that their only hope of finding their friends was that the enemy would find them as well. 

In the end it was Summerlee who had finally stumbled on Ned's tracks leading out from a dark, dismal cave. They were all disturbed by the presence of other footprints as well. Those tracks had led them to the walled village.

Marguerite marched up to the gate. They were all tired and frustrated at trying to locate their lost and injured friends that Challenger could not blame her impatience. She kicked at the gate and shouted for someone to come. 

The gate opened and a tall man with half his face stained red appeared and freely let them enter. He smiled warmly at them and bowed his head in reverence to Challenger. The professor straightened and cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

"Seems your reputation has proceeded you, George," Summerlee commented in surprise.

"As well it should," he responded. 

"Look," Veronica cried, pointing to a red glow coming from the center of a throng of people. She still carried Ned's discarded rifle in her hands, as if terrified that it would be the last thing she would hold of his.

"Yes, yes, very pretty," Marguerite snapped. She grabbed the native man's arm. "We're looking for two men. Roxton and Malone. Are they here?"

The man gestured to the circle.

"It appears that perhaps we might find them there." Challenger boldly stepped away and beelined for the crowd. The people saw them coming and parted for them, chattering excitedly to each other. People reached out and touched Challenger and the others with curious and what could only be described as near reverent gestures. Veronica and Summerlee regarded them with a certain level of wariness, while Challenger took it all in stride as if he expected it. Marguerite merely slapped at the reaching hands. 

A tapping came at her shoulder. Annoyed, she struck out at the newcomer. Veronica grasped the hand before it landed on her. 

"Do you know what they're saying?" the huntress asked. The heiress had a remarkable facility with languages. Veronica had been truly surprised when the woman had picked up the Zanga dialect in just moments.

Marguerite offered an exasperated glare and then shrugged. She had been steadily listening to the voices now speaking around them while her eyes still cast about for any sign of Roxton. "They keep saying something about tree people." She grabbed the red-faced man leading them and point blankly asked in his language the whereabouts of their friends. The complex words flowed off her tongue as if she had spoken them all her life.

The man reared back in surprise. "[_They are performing the Kira, a healing ceremony. One was badly injured. Dying.]_"

That news cut through Marguerite like a blade. _Dying? Roxton was dying? Had they come too late? _Within moments, she had the whole story, which she quickly related to the others. Her ire rose when she found out Malone's insane charade. _What a fool!_ He was risking everything for nothing.

Challenger was mortified. "That's preposterous! Malone isn't Roxton's brother. The ceremony's a botch!"

"Give the lad some credit," Summerlee demanded of his colleague. "He's trying to save Roxton's life."

Osha approached them once she was informed of who was in their midst. Her eyes widened as she spied Marguerite. _Even the Chosen One had come!_ "Welcome," she entreated. She regarded the red-haired Challenger, concerned by what she had just overheard. "Is this true? Ma-lone is not of the clan of Roxton?"

"By heavens, no! None of us are related to the other."

Disappointment crept into her face. "He claimed he was. I see now it was only a ruse to save the one called Roxton." 

"Then we have to stop the ceremony immediately!" Summerlee insisted.

"That is impossible. Once the Kira has begun it must be seen through to the end. I am sorry."

"But Malone will die!" Veronica's eyes were fixed to the man held writhing in the jewel's red light.

"It was his choice," Osha stated. 

"Can you tell if it is helping?" Challenger moved closer to the altar, curiosity and concern waging its usual battle.

"No," Osha admitted. "I cannot."

Marguerite walked slowly forward to the dais, not giving the massive jewel a second glance. All she saw was Roxton's torn and broken body laid out before her as it had so often been in her nightmares. Through the strange markings that covered him, his wounds were clearly visible. She couldn't imagine what he had gone through at the hands of the vicious apemen. Her gaze took in the cruelly broken limb and she shuddered.

"What can we do?" she demanded of Osha, swinging back around with fierce determination to hold in her emotions where none could see them.

However, the native woman saw the concern regardless and understood the woman's devotion. It would have been a good match: The Chosen One and the Huntsman. Their children would have been powerful.  There rose in her a sadness that she could do nothing to alleviate the woman's fears. "We wait. Their fates are in the hands of Kira."

***

It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of watching the life leech out of Ned unsure if any of it was flowing into Roxton or merely dissipating into the air. Veronica was beside herself. They couldn't lose Ned. _She_ couldn't lose Ned.

The attraction she felt for the young American was real. That much she acknowledged. What she needed to ascertain was how deep those feelings went. If she lost him now she would never find out. 

Her mind cast back to when she had once discovered him spying on her at the waterfall. It had been purely accidental. The absolute flush in his face as he had looked away, embarrassed, made that obvious.

There was such innocence about him that she cherished beyond measure. She had never known a man who possessed it. She didn't need a man of action, despite how it seemed to most. In all honesty, it was the sheer sense of wonder and compassion that she witnessed in Ned Malone that made her feelings for him deepen with each passing day.

His innocence was a treasure. She recalled the shock in his eyes the day she had kissed him in the sulfur fields as they hid from the raptors. The way he then asked her later in the treehouse if they could do such a thing again; it sometimes made her melt with each recollection.

The plateau was inundated with men who could match her in prowess and muscle, where hunting and killing were great assets. But she didn't want a man like that. She wanted Ned. 

The surety of that statement surprised her. So when the red light faded she was the first to reach him as he crumpled to the ground.   
  


"Malone!"

Continued in Part Nine


	9. Salvation

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

Disclaimer and Notes: See Chapter One Salvation 

Chapter Nine

"Is he dead?" shouted Challenger.

Veronica's fingers fumbled for his throat. There was a silence in the entire tribe as they waited for word whether the young man had survived. Her jaw was clenched tight until she finally found the steady pulse. She gasped out in relief. "He's alive!"

There was a shout of elation from the surrounding natives, but Osha raised a hand silencing them. Marguerite approached the altar. Roxton lay so still, his hair askew on his forehead, his face peppered with red from the high fever he was battling. All eyes were on her, but Marguerite took no notice. Dread had gripped her soul as she reached for him, knowing that in the next moment she would either cry with joy or fall apart with abject loss.

He couldn't be dead. He couldn't, not while Malone lived. It wouldn't be fair.

Roxton suddenly drew in a deep shuttering breath. Marguerite let out a small cry and ran the last bit to him. He was warm but there was no trace of the raging fever that had claimed him prior. His heartbeat thumped against her palm, as powerful and as strong as ever.

A roar went about the village. This time Osha made no move to stop it. She stepped up to the altar and laid a hand on Roxton's chest, feeling this miracle for herself. "This has never happened before. Never has a stranger been able to give his spirit to another."

Challenger stroked his beard, lost in thought. "Perhaps the term brother is not bound exclusively by blood."

"We have been through much together," Summerlee pointed out. "We have almost become a family of sorts in our own right."

Osha grinned. "Yes. Battle can forge bonds stronger than blood. Perhaps that is what saved your friends' lives. Truly you are blessed."

Ned roused in Veronica's arms. "Did it work?" Disoriented, he hadn't yet processed the fact that the others had somehow found them.

"Yes it worked, you crazy idiot," she scolded softly. "What were you thinking?"

"Of a friend," he told her. He didn't miss her smiling face and glistening eyes. _Are those tears for me? he wondered. It finally dawned on him as he looked around. "Hey, when did you all get here?"_

"Too late to stop you from doing something impetuous as always," Challenger groused, leaning into Ned's field of vision, red hair flying riotously out from under his hat.

"Welcome back, young Malone," Summerlee offered, his crinkling eyes bright with unabashed tears. "Our valiant hero."

"Who'd have thought, huh?" Ned remarked, flushed with embarrassment and silent pride.

***

The quiet and peace in the large hut was a pleasure after the arduous ordeal of the explorers. Evening had fallen and most everyone was sleeping. They lay in a semi-circle around a dwindling campfire. 

Veronica had not left Ned's side since the ceremony had ended. Though the journalist had been conscious for the first hour, exhaustion soon claimed him and he slept as though he would do so for weeks. Osha assured them that it was a natural side effect of performing the Kira. It would take a few days rest for Malone to regain the strength he had transferred to Roxton.

The recovering lord lay quietly beside Marguerite. He still had not roused, but Osha again said it was a good sign. His fever had not returned, indicating the infection was gone. The leg no longer festered and he no longer breathed blood. His flesh had knitted but the broken bones had not yet fully mended; however, enough energy was transferred to allow him now to recoup on his own. Any more and it might have killed Malone. 

Summerlee and Challenger had argued that perhaps it was the black, pitch-like substance Kimshe had used that had turned the tide. It was made of a plant yet unclassified by either professor and that discovery had held their attention most of the day, after they were positive both sick men were well on the road to recovery, of course.

Still Veronica liked to believe that it had been Ned himself that had saved the day. It seemed somehow important to believe that, for Ned's sake. He had been through so much, and despite his claims of failure after failure in his attempt to save Roxton, Veronica was positive that Ned's selfless acts had saved both their lives. It had been a heavy load to bear all alone. She was amazed and very proud of him.

Now she dozed along side him, her slender hand resting atop his, not only to sense if he awoke during the night, but also to reassure her of his presence. 

Marguerite watched them and wished she had the courage to be so bold. She sat beside Roxton but did not touch him; instead she merely watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the occasional flutter of his long eyelashes that hinted with the promise of his waking. But each time she was disappointed. He remained asleep.

Marguerite wondered how and why she had these feelings for the hunter. He was arrogant and uncouth, a braggart and a bore. He constantly got under her skin.

Though not always in a bad way, she mused. There were many pleasant memories that made a warmth spread through her. She recalled the time he had approached her on the balcony after finding the valley of that vile tree, his fumbling attempt to open the door to his feelings and hers. She had fought him then. She also remembered how he had confessed to her about his desperate desire to belong, even if the cost meant becoming a bloodthirsty killer like Calista. And then there was the time he had offered of himself after she had almost committed suicide in the cave saturated with hallucinogenic spores. Each time, it was he who had made such small efforts, whittling away at her foundation, showing her that such battlements might not be necessary any longer. If only he knew just how necessary they were.

She felt drawn to him. No man had ever affected her like that, at least not in a very long time. It was something she would have to consider sometime in the near future. She was just relieved that they had one. This way she could sort out just what it was between them. Not that she was fooling herself into believing there was something lasting brewing. She had no time or desire for that. She was here on business after all, but the promise of something wonderful continued to envelop her with a tenderness she had rarely known. It was at once incredible and alarming in its intensity.

Reaching out, she hesitatingly touched him, brushing her fingers lightly over the dark purple bruises so vivid on his chest. So much pain and suffering; so many scars; so much like herself. She took one last look around to make sure no one was watching her, hoping everyone was still deeply asleep. When she turned back, she was shocked to see Roxton awake. His eyes were open and observing her.

"Roxton!" She vainly fought the elation that struggled to erupt over her face and jerked back her hand from where it lay on his muscular chest.

"You're finally here," he whispered. His hand reached out to brush her cheek as if expecting her to vanish like she had so often in his dreams of late. To his pleasure, she remained solid and warm to the touch.

"Of course I am. You know we had to track you and Malone over half this bloody plateau. Next time leave some bigger breadcrumbs."

"As you command," he murmured.

A delicious chill ran up her arms at his words. She tried to distract him so he wouldn't see her reaction. "Should I get someone? Summerlee?"

He shook his head. "No, the one that I want is right here."

She couldn't help the blush that rose in her cheeks. A part of her always hated the way her body unconsciously reacted to him. A pure lack of control that distilled everything she had trained herself to do over the years. It was dangerous how he affected her so.

"I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Oh really?" She shifted uncomfortably on the mat. 

"I thought my number was up this time." His hand dropped to cover hers and his thumb rubbed the pulse point at her wrist. 

"It very nearly was." Her breath was reduced to short, quick gasps marked in time with its rhythm. "I swear, you and Malone have the same number of lives as my cat back in London." Her forced laugh was too rapid and loud in the pervading silence of the hut. To her horror, Challenger stirred in the far corner. She did not want anyone to see how she was reacting, all flustered and off balance. It could be misinterpreted.

"There are too many things left undone in my life," Roxton continued. "It's time to remedy some."

Suddenly she was afraid of what this man was going to blurt out. She wasn't ready! "Roxton, you really should rest." She looked back at Challenger in hopes that he had actually roused from his sleep, but with no luck. The professor had fallen back to snoring merrily. However, she did see someone move outside the hut through the bundled branches that made up the structure's wall. Natives on the move most likely. Maybe one would come in and check on them. She almost pleaded that they would. Anything was better than opening up to Lord Roxton.

"I've rested enough." He raised himself up on an elbow and pulled her attention back to him with a gentle hand. He stared directly into her face. "Marguerite, you don't deny there's something between us, do you?"

"Between us?" she exclaimed. "Don't be silly. Whatever sparks fly between us are purely dangerous ones. Not to mention annoying." 

The hunter wasn't to be deterred. "Danger is a game we both like to play," he murmured, his gaze traveling the length of her like a predator devouring its prey. She actually shivered before his eyes but she quickly covered it up with a sharp retort.

"One that only you continually lose." 

He shook his head, frustrated at the turn the conversation had taken. It always happened that way between them, like a bad habit. It prevented them from speaking the truth all too often. He tried again. "Look, all I want to say is--"

There was a sudden crack of dry branches outside the door. "Did you hear that?" Marguerite squeaked, purposely looking around.

"Don't change the subject."

She huffed with exasperation. "I'm not. There's someone out there."

"We're in a village, are we not? It's just a villager."

"I should go check." She tried to rise. 

"Marguerite!" he growled with irritation, but then he realized he was pushing her. She had no intention of listening to him confess his feelings. He backed off reluctantly, remembering his own advice just before this whole adventure started. She wasn't ready. Instead, he looked down at his bare chest, covered still with the strange markings. "What the hell is this stuff?" He rubbed at a symbol but it didn't come off.

"You can thank Malone." Relieved at the distraction, she explained what the journalist had done to save his life. Roxton was amazed and grateful. At least until Marguerite pointed out, "Unfortunately that stuff has to wear off naturally." There was a mischievous grin on her face.

"How long?"

"About three weeks."

He rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered.

"I don't know. I think it looks rather … primal." Her finger traced one of the patterns, making his skin tingle.

The grin he shot her was as feral as her own. "God, I do lo—"

The door exploded inward with a crash, sending splinters of wood everywhere. Marguerite screamed as something large and hairy came at her.

Concluded in Chapter Ten


	10. Brothers

Brothers In Arms 

By Susan Zell

_Disclaimers and Notes: See Chapter One_

_Brothers_

Chapter Ten

Marguerite screamed as she was rushed by a silver-laced apeman, her hand immediately fumbling at her waist for her pistol. Roxton shoved her aside, struggling to gain his feet and met the lead attacker. The small fire in the hut was scattered at the onslaught and hot embers rolled haphazardly to set mats ablaze. Marguerite fell onto Veronica, who was just rising half crouched behind her. They both tumbled hard to the ground.   
  


The Silverback's putrid breath swept over Roxton and fear bubbled up inside him as he met the brute's rush. It slammed him back against the wall, branches cracking but not breaking at the sudden weight. His half-healed broken leg reverberated with agony, as he had to use it to brace himself. His vision swam for a moment, and as it cleared again, he just managed to catch sight of the Silverback's upraised arm, gripping a crude blade stuck into the cracked stock of his once pristine rifle. Roxton somehow got a hand up to stop its advance toward his skull.

The muscles in his arm trembled with the strain. He wasn't fully healed and the beast before him was at its prime and full of rage. There was no holding it back. Shouting was erupting all around him but he couldn't see what was going on. All his concentration centered at keeping the monster at bay. But inch by inch, its yellow teeth lowered toward his neck. 

Gaining her feet, Veronica leaped on the back of another apeman, as it hurtled inside with a third close on its heels. Plunging her knife deep into its hairy skin, it gave a terrible howl and shrugged her violently aside before she could land a final thrust. She landed in a heap again by a dazed Marguerite.

Challenger pulled a pistol and fired at the third apeman charging a distracted Summerlee, who was patting out the flames that crawled up his pants caused by a burning log at his feet. 

Marguerite raised herself up dizzily on her elbow. Her head had struck something hard. Most likely Veronica's skull. Then she saw a hairy shape lurching over the blonde beside her. Kicking out hard with her booted foot, she knocked the legs out from under the beast. It fell onto Veronica's upturned blade, letting out a screech with its last breath.

Ned struggled up out of a deep dream and woke in the midst of chaos. Shouts and shapes were all about him, but the one thing that seeped into his dazed brain was the smell of apemen. It clogged his nostrils with its foul stench. His hand groped for a weapon and rejoiced when it closed around his rifle. He didn't question where it came from, only that it was there when he needed it. 

He rose to his feet, the rifle sweeping into position out of sheer instinct. The hairy form of the Silverback took shape. It was attacking Roxton. Ned almost took a panicked shot, but then he stopped, slowed his wild breathing, and gauged the situation. He kept the rifle aimed at his target and waited till he had a clear shot. In that instant, the Silverback's head pulled back.

The rifle cracked and the Silverback flew to the side in a spray of crimson.

Veronica sprang to her feet and approached the Silverback warily. The sheer size of it up close was amazing. She recognized it immediately from Ned's description. It was most surely dead since most of its skull was gone. A quick glance around verified that all the apemen were dispatched and everyone was all right.

She turned her head and took in Ned, standing there with the rifle still trained on the beast, his eyes wide and his stance secure. His breath exploded out in a strangled gasp. She spoke to him softly, approaching from the side. "It's dead. You did it, Ned."

Ned stood there for a second, his gaze never wavering from the slumped thing in the corner. But then the rifle nosed down limply and he staggered back. Veronica was there to hold his arm and keep him upright. 

"It's over," he whispered. "It's finally over." The Silverback was dead. Revenge had been extracted. Amends had been made.

Marguerite scrambled over to Roxton as the man slid slowly down the wall. He looked wretched but none of the blood on his body belonged to him. He just seemed dazed. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

He only nodded, reaching the ground, taking in the body of his enemy as it lay near him. He closed his eyes for a moment and then gathered Marguerite in a tight embrace. Surprised, she said nothing but only held him, wanting him to know that she was real and that everything was finally over. It seemed very important to do so.

His big hand cradled the back of her head, keeping it against him as though his life depended on it. She could feel it shake. The man had faced his greatest fear. She knew of his hatred for things simian. Here had been the deadliest simian of all, and he had lived through it. And he had protected her from it. As annoyed as she had been that he had shoved her so roughly aside at its charge, it also once again demonstrated his deep affection for her. And that almost made her tremble.

 Eventually, he relaxed his body and sat back. His eyes turned to her. "Next time," he told her softly, "I'll think I'll listen to you."

She laughed. "Oh, that will be the day." But her eyes shone with the fondness that she still refused to acknowledge. Maybe some day.

To Malone, he turned and said, "That was a hell of a shot."

Ned grinned, his flash of teeth pale and white in the murky gloom. "I surprised myself." 

"Well done and thanks."

Challenger and Summerlee approached them. Both men were fine, a little singed but nonplussed at the events.

"Look at the size of that monster!" Challenger exclaimed. He was on his knees beside the body, examining it like a child with a new toy.

Summerlee suppressed a shudder. "Well that was a rather rude way to wake up. Ned, I must say, what fine shooting!"

"One track mind," Challenger remarked distractedly of the Silverback. "It must have snuck past the sentries. All to get at you, Roxton."

The hunter shrugged weakly. "Notoriety is a terrible burden." He picked up the remains of his poor rifle. It had never looked so shoddy. But it wasn't a complete loss; already his mind was contemplating how to repair the stock. And he certainly couldn't deny it had more character now.

Challenger pouted while poking at the body. "The cranium cavity is smashed all to ruin. There's no way to judge if this beast was the next step in apemen evolution or one of Hargrove's amok experiments." He scowled at Ned.

"Really, George! Just get it out of here," Marguerite snapped. 

"I second that motion," piped up Summerlee.

Torches and a crowd came from outside as the Laru, alerted by the commotion, approached.

"I think you'll be even more heroic to them now," Veronica noted. "Maybe they'll name you the Silverback Slayer," she teased him, though proud beyond measure. 

"I'll just settle for being me. Good old reliable Malone." He blushed at her unexpected praise.

Roxton extended his hand. "A brother in arms," he said.

Ned was stunned at the gesture. Knowing what it meant to the hunter to offer such a title.  The journalist warmly clasped the presented hand. "A brother in arms," he repeated, his chest swelling with pride. "An honor."  

"Well earned," admitted Roxton. "You make a hell of an adventurer, Ned Malone."

Ned beamed with contentment.

"But you still need a hat."

The End

  



End file.
